


The Emperor's Son

by saijanbulma



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2020-12-16 03:02:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 64,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21029189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saijanbulma/pseuds/saijanbulma
Summary: Two orphaned princes, an evil Emperor, a wedding: when your fate seems written for you, how do you own your future?





	1. Chapter 1

Prince Vegeta was panting hard, sweat running down his face in salty rivulets and making tracks on his dirty skin. His blade was growing heavy in his hands, and he was struggling to keep the tip pointed at the figure that continued to attack him without reprise. He made a clumsy lunge at him, in the hopes of ending this before he was too dogged to fight back, but his thrust was deflected, putting him off balance. The older man sneered and turned his blade on the prince decisively.

He dodged low, feeling the wind on his cheek as the sword narrowly missed his face. His opponent was quicker than him and sliced back in his direction as he fell back, and he was forced to the ground to avoid it. He rolled gracelessly into the dirt, covering his fine travelling tunic in dry mud and twigs and scratching his bare arms. He was barely keeping a handle on his own sword.

Blinded by the dust and disoriented by his poorly coordinated roll, he wasn’t able to see his attacker, but he heard the man’s sure step advancing on him and so blindly slashed upwards with his sword in desperation. His blade was knocked aside easily, leaving him open. Any moment now, he would feel his enemy’s steel against his breast, and it would all be over. The little prince grit his teeth and raised his empty hand in apparent supplication.

A blast of pure force issued forth, rippling the air around him and shaking the trees. His adversary was thrown backwards completely, hitting the ground with an angry yell. Prince Vegeta clambered to his feet.

“Gods damn, you little shit-!” Captain Bardock snarled, quickly righting himself and rounding on the prince. “How many fucking times-”

“Mum told you not swear-”

“And you!” Bardock hollered, rounding on the second boy who was now very much wishing he’d kept his mouth shut, “just standing there while your future King is getting his ass whooped? Do you even want to be Captain of the Guard one day?!”

“Uh, I, uh…” Radditz looked desperately from Prince Vegeta to his father, and back again, begging for assistance. The boy was strong and dextrous but he was not a bright one.

“You should both be ashamed of yourselves,” Bardock continued mercilessly. “You should have used your number advantage against me and worked like a team the way I taught you. And you,” he glared at Prince Vegeta who stood up straight and glared right back, “if you keep relying on your damned magic then you, my boy, will end up choking on someone else’s steel one day.”

“Says who?” he bit back fearlessly. “My magic is an advantage, why _ shouldn’t _ I get to use it?”

“We’ve been over this,” Bardock sighed angrily, dusting off his gambeson and half-plate. He gave a little extra attention to wiping dirt from the Royal insignia stamped over his heart. “Magic in battle is fine in its place but it is not the true Saiyan way. Royalty are expected to wield a sword as well as anyone in their army, and if you keep relying on your witchery then you’ll never improve.”

“I don’t have to improve if I use magic.”

“And what happens when you’re faced with an accomplished spell-sword, huh?” Bardock retorted, towering over Vegeta who bit his lip quietly. “Your magic only gives you an advantage against the untouched. One day you’ll be fighting in real battles, against other races, and you’ll face off with a magic user as skilled as you, and then it _ will _ come down to your sword.”

“You just don’t like magic,” Vegeta sulked, kicking the dirt sullenly. “You call it witchcraft. You think my mother is a witch.”

“She _ is _a goddamned witch, and she’s bloody proud of it, so yes, I call it witchcraft,” Bardock sighed again, passing a hand over his eyes. He knew this pattern; pretty soon there would be no dealing with him if he didn’t head off this attitude. “And don’t twist my words: I don’t hate magic at all, and I respect your mother a great deal. Being Dragon-touched is an honour, but I have a job to do, given to me personally by your father, and by the gods I will see you accomplished with a sword if it kills us both.”

Vegeta let his sword tip touch the ground, trying to hide the shaking. His empty hand rubbed his sword arm. Bardock shook his head and reminded himself for the umpteenth time that day that he was dealing with a little boy, a spoilt, unreasonably powerful and mouthy little boy, but a little boy all the same. The lad had seen only eight birthdays and was small for his age, and yet was expected to do and understand so much more than he was really capable of. His own son Radditz was two years older and didn’t have a fraction of the pressure that the young prince endured.

“Let’s take a break, your muscles need to refuel,” he relented, heading to the rack to replace the blunted training blade in his hand. “Radditz, you can clean his highness’s sword, seeing as yours saw almost no action.”

“But dad-!”

“What?”

“Right you are dad, I’ll get right on it,” Radditz corrected quickly. In the background the two smaller boys who had been avidly watching the training session tittered.

“Shut it, Kakarot,” Radditz grumbled, collecting Vegeta’s sword. “I’m gonna sell you to a circus.”

“Raddies funny,” Kakarot giggled, patting Tarble roughly. Tarble for his part had risen and was reaching up out of the confines of his playpen to his brother, who looked coolly at him from across the make-shift training ground.

“Vegeta?” Tarble implored. His brother tried to affect an air of nonchalance as he walked slowly over.

“You want out?” he asked him. His little brother, three years his junior and even smaller in stature than he’d been at that age, beamed up at him with adoration. “Alright, but just for a minute.”

Vegeta hefted Tarble out of the playpen and set him down on the ground. It had been a dry summer so far, though this far north the air was still cool, and the gentle breeze was welcome to the sweaty boys. They’d made camp by a lake, just shy of the hallowed woods they were due to enter in the morning, with the great Paozu Mountains looming over them in the near distance. There the ancient Dragon Monks resided, the holiest order, and where his father was set to pay tribute the following day. Tarble grabbed his brother’s leg dotingly; Vegeta glared at the mountains a few seconds longer, his jaw clenched.

“Can we play now?” the small boy lisped. At five years old Tarble ought to have shrugged off the affectionate habits of infancy and started his journey towards manhood, but to the despair - and disgust - of their parents Tarble showed no inclination to adopt proper Saiyan mannerisms. He was prone to hugging, and was overly eager to express his love and admiration of those he felt close to. Vegeta had tried to prevent him but his mother’s sharp eye missed nothing. He sighed.

“See those mountains?” he said, pointing at the winding mountain range that rose out of the forest like the back of a great beast. “That’s where we’re going tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“To ask the monks for blessings for father’s diplomatic meeting with the Ox King.”

Tarble was quiet; Father had been less and less pleased with his youngest son of late.

“You have to be quiet going up those mountains,” Vegeta added, taking Tarble’s hand and leading him to a table that had been made up with refreshments for them.

“What for?”

“Because else you’ll wake the dragon,” his brother informed him with a mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes.

“What dragon?”

“Legends say that when the Great Dragon ShenLong was finished creating the world, he laid himself down to rest, and around him grew the Paozu Forest. He slept for so long that eventually he got covered in dirt and rocks and the trees started to grow up his back,” he said in a low, story-telling voice. He picked up a bread roll and held it to his lips. “We call them the Paozu Mountains but really they’re a sleeping dragon, and if you shout too loud, or make too much noise when you’re on his back, then he’ll awaken and gobble you up!”

Vegeta raised his voice at the end of his tale, illustrating his point by taking a large, messy bite out of his bread roll. Tarble was endearingly startled, crying out in surprise and mock fear, then descending into giggles as Vegeta chomped noisily on his roll, snarling and hissing like the Great Dragon of lore.

“Don’t fill his head with nonsense,” Bardock admonished from across the table. “Tarble, the Paozu Mountains are not the Great Dragon, that’s an old wives tale.”

“Yeah, anyway everyone knows the Great Dragon sleeps under Fire Mountain,” Radditz chimed in, having finished with the swords. “That’s why the mountain smokes.”

“Fire Mountain smokes because it’s a volcano,” Vegeta retorted haughtily. “The Great Dragon doesn’t breathe fire, you’re thinking of wyrms.”

“Well my mother said-”

“Boys, that’s enough,” Bardock said with finality, not wanting the conversation to extend to Vegeta’s opinion of Radditz’s mother. “Eat up, we’ve got more training to do.”

“Can I train now?” Tarble asked with hopeful eyes.

“No, you’re too small,” Bardock dismissed him.

“Kakarot is smaller and you said he needed to start-”

“Shut up and eat, Radditz.”

“I’m not too small,” Tarble objected, looking crestfallen. “I can train.”

“Drop it, Tarble,” Vegeta advised quietly, nibbling his snack and avoiding his brother’s eyes.

“But I wanna train with my brother-”

“I said no and that’s final!” Bardock said, bringing his fist down on the table. “I don’t have to explain my reasons to-”

A scream cut across the clearing. The horses that were watering by the lake looked up in alarm, as did the servants and soldiers across the camp, and as the scream petered out a cacophony of voices rose up around it. Vegeta’s heart froze in his chest.

“Perfidy!” a voice bellowed. “The Queen-!”

The shout ended abruptly, and Vegeta discerned the sounds of clashing steel amongst the shouting, and voices yelling out in a language he didn’t recognise. Bardock was already on his feet, his face blanched white as he stared in the direction of the royal pavilion.

“Dad?” Radditz asked, his eyes wide and fearful. “Dad, what’s going on?”

He didn’t immediately reply; instead, he drew his sword.

* * *

The boys ran. They dodged trees, ducked under branches and jumped over roots with the desperate knowledge that they were pursued by death. Bardock had made his instructions very clear.

_ “No!” Vegeta argued, plucking his light, sharpened personal blade from amongst the blunted training weapons. “I won’t run away, I have to fight-!” _

_ “You are a child and you will do as I command!” Bardock roared at the top of his mighty lungs, making the children flinch away. “Now grab your brothers and run! Don’t stop until you get to the monks!” _

That was the last thing Bardock had said to them. He’d paused only long enough to see that they were following his instructions, then charged towards the fight that was ensuing in the royal accommodations.

Vegeta ran through a bush, pulling his brother with him who shrieked as the thorns cut his soft skin. He turned at the sound of his brother’s scream and was himself cut deeply on the arm by a jagged branch. He grit his teeth and powered through, not allowing a moment’s weakness to slow him down, instead blasting the branch aside vindictively with his magic.

He was beginning to regret bringing his sword, as it slapped uncomfortably against his thigh and caught on things, but he couldn’t undo the buckle without letting go of Tarble’s hand. Radditz was having a worse time of it; Kakarot wasn’t yet old enough to run, so he had to be carried, and any advantage that Radditz’s height or age might have bestowed was negated by the weight of a toddler in his chunky arms. He was also less able to navigate the smaller gaps that Vegeta and Tarble were whipping through like lithe greyhounds, instead having to smash and scramble his way through obstacles.

There were sounds of pursuit behind them, larger bodies, stronger and faster than them in theory but more impeded by the thick forest. Their shouts were in a language Vegeta didn’t speak, but from the one or two words he could pick out, the meaning was clear. The word he heard most often was “prince”.

“I can’t run!” Tarble sobbed as he struggled to match his brother’s pace.

“Shut up!” Vegeta responded harshly, pulling him with greater vigour as the crashing behind them drew closer. He could barely contain his own panic.

“Vegeta!” Radditz panted. “They’re - catching - up!”

“Just run!!” Vegeta roared desperately, his legs burning with the effort.

He could barely hear their pursuers over Tarble’s wailing, and visibility was growing increasingly poor as they fled deeper into the dense foliage, the canopy blocking out more and more of the evening sunlight. It was only luck that saved Vegeta, as a massive fallen tree blocked his path and he turned sharply, narrowly avoiding a headlong tumble down the sharp slope that the trunk was disguising. Radditz was not so lucky, and Vegeta heard him stumble and fall. He must have dropped his brother too, because he heard Kakarot’s terrified crying as the tiny boy rolled down the hill. The cool part of Vegeta’s brain noted that the drop must have been quite a distance, judging from the diminishing volume of Kakarot’s descending cries.

“Vegeta!” Radditz cried out in abject terror, but Vegeta didn’t stop. Their hunters would be on Radditz before he could even turn around, and even if he could get to him before they did he couldn’t do anything to help him now. He had one goal, and one goal only. He released Tarble’s hand and thrust him in front.

“Run, Tarble!” he encouraged, even though his own lungs felt like they were on fire. “You can do this!”

“Brother!”

“Trust me!”

Tarble staggered away, trying as best he could on his shorter legs to maintain any kind of speed. Vegeta turned on his heel and raised his hands. That dead old tree had given him an idea.

* * *

Bardock was sprawled face down in the mud. It had been dry, dusty earth but the addition of copious amounts of blood from himself and his fellow guards had turned it into a puddle of mud. His hand gripped his side, putting pressure on his wound as he desperately fought to maintain ownership of the rest of his blood. He was largely ignored by the mercenaries that now overran the camp, and for good reason; he would have ignored such an obvious dead man as well.

“Report!” demanded a voice in the common tongue. This voice was different from the others, smoother and very haughty. “Did you find them?”

“No sir,” replied a heavily accented mercenary. Bardock wished he could see their faces, but to even open his eyes would be to give himself away. His Saiyan pride balked at such a shameful tactic.

“Why not?” the first voice demanded, clearly irate.

“The prince is a witch, my lord,” the mercenary tried to explain, “he felled many trees sir, we were much slowed by this. They ran too far for us to follow them, we’re sending out trackers instead.”

“Imbeciles! They’re children!”

Bardock’s stomach lurched. They were talking about the boys.

“The boy is a witch,” the mercenary maintained firmly. “We could not find the princes, only his friend.”

_ Oh no, _ Bardock thought, groaning inwardly.

“His friend?”

“This one.”

“Stop it!” Radditz objected, equally furious and terrified.

Bardock moaned audibly, opening his eyes and rolling towards the sound of his son’s voice. There was movement around him, feet, voices, a blade pressed firmly against his sternum.

“Dad! Dad- no! Get away from him you basta-!”

There was a wet _ thunk _ sound and Radditz fell to his knees, retching. The sword pressed harder against his breastplate.

“Wait,” the smooth voice ordered, and Bardock could just make out a tall, hooded man, broad shouldered and with his face shrouded behind scarves. He wore the same clothes as the other mercenaries, but they were cleaner and newer. He could see his son behind the man, clutching his stomach and losing his lunch. “Look at his armour. Royal plate, the King’s household insignia, crossed blades - who are you, sir?”

“I’m - Bardock,” he coughed feebly as warmth and wetness spread from the wound under his hand. “Captain of - the Royal Guard.”

“Should I kill him, sir?” asked the owner of the blade.

“No, idiot,” the leader sneered. “Patch him up and put him with the others. We can ransom this lot.”

“But-”

“You have your orders.”

The mercenary grunted, and Bardock felt an exquisite agony as he was lifted by the armpits into semi-upright position, his wound gushing blood. He felt dizzy.

“And the boy, take him too,” the leader instructed. “There’s no use in killing children.”

“But the princes-”

“_ Aside from them! _” he snapped, visibly frustrated with the quality of his underlings.

Bardock saw Radditz being hauled to his feet, his front slick with vomit but otherwise looking unharmed. There was no Kakarot. He turned his head and saw his King, spreadeagled on the dirty floor without even the respect of a decent laying out. The Queen was curled up near him, pale and lifeless. A hard lump rose in his throat, threatening to choke him. He couldn’t see his own wife among the bodies; he didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing.

The blood loss and pain could be ignored no more, and unconsciousness took him.

* * *

“Stop crying, Tarble,” Vegeta growled, pulling his brother along pitilessly.

“Can’t,” he sniffled, rubbing his face with his free hand.

“It’s annoying,” he snapped, “can’t you at least cry quietly?”

Tarble’s blubbering receded to small, gasping little breaths and hiccoughs, not exactly silence but better than before. They walked in silence.

It was dark now, and they were navigating by the light of the moon. Thankfully it was a clear night, but Vegeta reasoned that meant anyone following them would be having an easier job of that too, and so he kept walking. Tarble was exhausted, and so was he, but he couldn’t stop, not until he knew it was safe for he and his brother. He didn’t know how long they’d been on the run, although it had been at least a couple of hours, but they’d lost track of their pursuers as far as he could tell. That wasn’t enough though.

“I’m thirsty,” Tarble mumbled.

“I’m not surprised with all that crying!” Vegeta snapped, but took a deep breath and collected himself. “We’re headed uphill, I’ll find you a stream.”

Tarble said nothing, but wiped his nose.

The search for water took them him nearly an hour, an hour that was punctuated with Tarble’s infant whining and complaints, and more than once Vegeta had to clench his fist to stop himself from striking his young brother, but eventually they found a stream of clear mountain water.

“Is it safe?” Tarble asked.

“Probably safer than dying of thirst,” Vegeta snapped.

“I don’t have a cup.”

“Use your hands.”

Tarble gave his brother a baleful look before bending down and putting his cupped hands in the stream.

“Wait,” Vegeta frowned, “wash your hands a bit first.”

The boys washed their hands as best they could then drank heartily from the small stream. Vegeta thought it was the tastiest water he’d ever drank.

“How long until they find us?” Tarble asked in a small, frightened voice.

“They won’t,” his brother assured him, “I’m gonna keep us safe. I won’t let them get you.”

“You won’t?”

“No.”

“But you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you!” Vegeta snapped again, crossing his arms against the accusation.

“But you yelled at me.”

“Yeah, because you were being a whiny little brat. Brothers shout at each other, that’s normal. That’s what we do.”

“I don’t shout at you.”

“Well that’s because you’re weird.”

Tarble sniffled a little, but his crying had abated. Vegeta washed his face, frustrated and tired.

“Are mummy and daddy-”

“No, don’t do that. I don’t know any more than you do.”

“Those men had swords.”

“Father’s an amazing warrior, and mother has force magic. They’ll be fine.”

“So why didn’t they rescue us?”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“I hope Radditz is okay.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s fine,” Vegeta lied. He’d heard Radditz being dragged away as he ran back from his tree blockade. He’d never felt shame like it in his entire life.

“I’m so tired.”

“I know, me too,” Vegeta groaned, rubbing his eyes. “But we have to keep going.”

“Can’t we sleep just for a little bit?”

“Not here, they’ll be looking for us at places like water sources,” he stood up reluctantly, trying show bravery for his tired, frightened brother but finding it a herculean effort. “I promise if I find somewhere safe I’ll let us sleep.”

“Your arm, you hurted it,” Tarble said, pointing at the drying blood on Vegeta’s bicep.

“You mean ‘hurt’,” Vegeta reminded him, embarrassed, “and don’t worry about it.”

“No, lemme see.”

“Tarble…”

The smaller boy was already on his feet, stepping over the shallow stream to put his little hands on his brother’s arm. He stared intently at the wound.

“I can fix it.”

“You shouldn’t,” Vegeta mumbled, trying to ignore how much it was stinging in the cool night air. “Mother doesn’t like it when you do that.”

“Mother’s not here,” Tarble said pointedly, and placed both hands over the wound. There was a sense of denseness to the air around him, and a low humming that he couldn’t place, then his arm became warm. The warmth became numbness, the numbness subsided into itching, and then relief. Tarble withdrew his hands and looked at his handiwork.

“S’not all the way,” he sighed, appraising the mark that still remained, “I’m so tired.”

“No it’s great,” Vegeta replied, running his hand over the nearly-healed gash. “Doesn’t hurt, and now it won’t get infected. Are you okay?” he added, as the younger boy swooned.

“‘M just tired…”

“You shouldn’t have used your magic,” Vegeta admonished, supporting his little brother with his longer arms. “It always drains you.”

“S’how soul magic works, you have to give. S’why you can’t use it on yourself...” he shrugged, falling against his brother’s chest. “Think that’s why mother and father dun like it?”

“Magic is un-Saiyan, soul magical especially,” Vegeta admitted, lifting the boy, though his arms nearly shook. “I think they wouldn’t mind if it have been force magic.”

“Prob’ly,” Tarble agreed, his eyes drooping. Vegeta cursed himself for allowing the boy to exert himself while he was already so over-extended. “Are you gon’ leave me?”

“No, Tarble,” Vegeta sighed, hefting the lad so that his weight was at least evenly distributed. “I’ll carry you.”

“‘Kay,” he sighed, seeming to fall asleep. His eyes fluttered open a few seconds later. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“That’s what brothers do,” Vegeta said, trying to deflect.

“I love you.”

“Shut up and go back to sleep.”

“‘Kay.”

Vegeta grit his teeth and began to walk.

* * *

Tarble awoke in a cave. He had vague memories of his brother carrying him there, stopping frequently to catch his breath and regain strength in his muscles. Those minutes he was even vaguely awake he made sure to flood his brother with what spirit energy he could safely spare, but it had the secondary effect of sending Tarble back to unconsciousness when he did it. That was the cost of innate magics over learned ones: they drew from the spirit, and that was finite.

Vegeta’s force magic worked in the same way, only instead of pooling his life energy into another being his spirit energy was forced out of his body in a destructive manner. Tarble had often noted that it seemed to take a lot less energy to destroy than it did to heal, or perhaps he was just a weakling in that regard too and had less spirit to give.

A chill breeze blew into the cave and he shuddered. He hadn’t noticed in the night but he was starving as well as cold. He looked around for his brother in the hopes that he might have something to eat.

Vegeta wasn’t there.

“Brother?” Tarble quavered, his hunger quashed under a sudden wave of icy terror. “Vegeta?!”

He stood up on short, shaky legs and stumbled to the cave entrance; everything hurt. Outside the morning sun was just peeking over the horizon, and he could see that they were much higher up than before. He could see the Paozu Forest stretching away for miles in the distance, and looking like a little puddle was the lake where they’d camped. He couldn’t make out any details, nor could he see his brother.

“Vegeta!” he yelled, fear making his voice shake. “Vegeta, where are you?!”

He turned left and right, trying to decide whether he ought to go looking for his brother or stay put when the decision was rendered moot by the appearance of said brother, emerging suddenly from the undergrowth.

“Tarble, keep your voice down!” he hissed.

Tarble ignored his warning and ran into his brother’s arms with a sob of relief.

“Brother! I thought you were gone!”

“I was,” he replied irritably, pushing the younger boy away, “I went to get some breakfast.”

“Breakfast?”

“Yes. Now get back in the cave.”

He obliged, and sat down obediently when instructed. Vegeta produced a make-shift bag he’d constructed from his tunic and some leather from his scabbard, and opened it to reveal a small bounty of berries, nuts and greens.

“I couldn’t catch any meat,” he muttered almost apologetically, “but it wouldn’t matter because I left my flint back in the camp anyway.”

“Aren’t there other ways to make fire?” Tarble asked, scootching closer to the foraged feast.

“Magic, I guess. And I knew this soldier who said he could do it with sticks but I think he was lying,” Vegeta shrugged. “Anyway, fire would be a bad idea. I’m pretty sure they’re looking for us.”

“Why?”

“See there?” Vegeta pointed to a thin grey line in the distance. “That’s smoke. Someone’s following us and they made camp not that far away.”

“Could be the monks?”

Vegeta shook his head. “I climbed a tree to get a better view; we’re maybe a day’s hike away from the first temple. No way they’d be this far down the mountain.”

Tarble frowned.

“It’ll be okay,” Vegeta tried to assure him. “Just eat your berries. I’ll try to get us something better on the way.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for more flint.”

“Yeah, you do that. That’s your job now, okay? Look for flint. Or any sparky looking rocks.”

“What about the great apes?”

“Hmm?”

“The great apes of the Paozu Mountains,” Tarble repeated, “what if they attack us?”

“They won’t,” Vegeta nodded sagely, “trust me.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because I saw one while I was picking nuts, and it ran away.”

“Really?”

“Yup. I think they’re probably more scared of us than we are of-”

There was a rustling at the mouth of the cave, and Vegeta could have sworn he heard a gently grunting. His hand whipped to the handle of his sword.

“Brother-”

“Shh!” he ordered, crouching low with his sword held out in front of him. A shadow passed briefly over the entrance, gone almost as soon as it appeared, and Vegeta froze instinctively. He heard Tarble’s terrified breathing behind him, and swallowed his fear as well as he could. He advanced to the entrance of the cave, wishing his sword alone could give him the courage he currently lacked.

There was nothing to see at the entrance, nor when he stepped out on the rocky ledge beyond. The trees swayed gently in the breeze. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he might have seen a dark shape disappearing into the forest, but further examination showed nothing, not a disturbed branch or broken leaf that might support that supposition. He fought his mounting fear and stepped further out onto the ledge.

Something hit his foot, and he looked down to see that he had upset a satchel that had been placed there. It was plain leather, well-made and tied with thick thong. He bent down suspiciously, looking all about him as he did for a possible attacker.

“Vegeta? What is it?”

“Get back in the cave, Tarble!” he hissed, snatching up the bag.

“But what is it?”

Vegeta ignored him, retreating cautiously to the relative safety of their accommodation to dissemble the parcel. The satchel had wide straps, designed to be carried on a person’s back, and the leather was well waxed and waterproof, with a flap covering the top. There was a crude image of a turtle stamped on its front. He opened it.

“Wait, you don’t know what it is-”

“Yes I do,” Vegeta sighed with relief. He let some of the contents spill out; food, bowls, cups, some skins of water, dried meat and sundry supplies like rope and bandages. “This is a gift from the gods.”

“The gods?”

“Well,” Vegeta smirked, holding a cup to the light to examine the turtle symbol that was roughly carved there, “from their servants, at least.”

* * *

“But why would someone leave us stuff?” Tarble asked for the fourth time that morning. Their hike had been hard, mostly uphill, and even with the rations they were feeling weak, but still they trudged on.

“I don’t know Tarble!” Vegeta replied, aggravated. “Maybe it _ was _the monks.”

“But why didn’t they just say so? They could’ve helped us up this stupid mountain.”

“The monks are always neutral, it’s their way,” Vegeta lectured impatiently, “they don’t get involved in conflicts unless it’s super serious, maybe helping us like that would be too political.”

“You said the monks didn’t come this far down the mountain.”

“Well maybe I was wrong!” Vegeta snapped, stopping dead and turning to glare at his brother. “I don’t have all the answers, Tarble! I’m just trying to keep us alive long enough to get to the first temple! Once we’re there, I'm sure you can find someone to whine to until you’ve filled even your appetite for it, but until then _ just shut up! _”

Tarble stared at his big brother, his big eyes unreadable, and Vegeta turned away guiltily. His conscience was poorly developed and he rarely acted on its advice but that didn’t stop him suffering from involuntary remorse.

“I think it was the great apes,” Tarble suggested.

“...Come on, let’s keep going,” Vegeta sighed, pushing on.

* * *

“Vegeta, can you see them?”

“Stop shouting!” Vegeta hissed from the tree-tops. “I’m looking, damn you!”

“They’ll be a little bigger than you, and they’ll be lower because they’re too heavy to-”

“Are you still talking about the bloody apes?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No!” Vegeta almost howled, craning his neck to try to see over the canopy. He cursed and climbed higher, for once wishing he was smaller and lighter. The first temple had to be nearby, he knew it, he just had to get a high enough vantage point. The light was fading as another sunset approached, and the last thing he wanted was to be caught out in an increasingly cold, dark forest on a cloudy night with random apes possibly just roaming around. He squinted in the dim evening light, cursing again.

“Are you swearing?”

“No!”

“Mother doesn’t like it when you-”

“_ Mother doesn’t like a lot of things! _” Vegeta yelled back, giving up on his volume. At this point he’d almost welcome capture.

“She’d wallop you if she heard you say that.”

“Well she’s not here, is she?”

“Still, though.”

“Listen you little as-” Vegeta began, but trailed off as he eye was caught by a gleam in the distance, what appeared to be a fire being lit.

“What?”

“Shut up, I see something.”

“Is it a great ape?”

“_ It’s not a blasted ape! _”

A mere quarter mile away, old Master Roshi steepled his fingers and admired the fire he’d lit. It was larger than usual, and taller than the mild evening cold really necessitated. He breathed in the mountain air and surveyed the forest genially, smiling at it like it was an old friend.

“Master?” his young apprentice approached quietly from the temple. “You’ve lit the fires early.”

“My old bones feel the cold more these days, Krillin,” he replied easily. “Be a good lad and make up two extra beds will you?”


	2. Chapter 2

As was his custom, old Master Roshi rose with the sun, greeting the morning with the complacent geniality for which he was known amongst his peers. The early bird-song accompanied him as he tended to his ponds, and he hummed tunelessly along with them, tossing pressed grain pellets to feed the resident fish and turtles.

“Hungry this morning, aren’t they?” he noted to the large stone turtle that loomed over the pools, an image of the patron animal of his temple and the source of his informal moniker the ‘Turtle Hermit’. “I guess they know we’ve got Saiyans staying with us, huh? They wanna eat while there’s still food left.”

The temple was small, really more like a shrine, emblazoned with a stylized image of a turtle over its entrance. It contained only a handful of rooms, some for worship and training, with small apartments for living and accommodation, but it did have a nicely constructed main hall, open to the mountain air and preceded by ancient wooden steps, upon which was now stood his new apprentice, Krillin.

“Master?” he queried in a small voice.

“Yes, Krillin?”

“We’ve had a message from Grand Master Korin.”

The Turtle Hermit nodded sagely and gestured towards the dove cote on the other side of the building.

“Has our guest been fed and watered in thanks for his or her service?”

“I - yes sir, he’s resting up now,” the small bald boy responded, frowning. “But don’t you want to read the message?”

“All in good time.”

“It might be important.”

“No doubt,” Roshi agreed, returning to his fish, “it is from the Grand Master after all.”

“I have it here,” Krillin pressed, holding out the tiny missive.

“Why don’t you read it for me?” the old Master smiled. “You’re clearly very anxious about it.”

Krillin frowned, as always put out by his master’s nonchalance, and unfurled the little slip of curled paper he’d taken from the pigeon's leg. He bit his lip as he read.

“Oh dear.”

“Anything dreadful?”

“He knows about the Saiyans, he’s not happy,” Krillin reported, “he’s coming down today to speak with you.”

“Of course, of course,” the old man nodded sagely, stroking his long white beard. “I expected as much.”

“Should we turn away the Saiyans?”

The old man turned his beady eye on the boy, his hand no longer stroking his beard. Krillin thought he saw a narrowing of his eyes, and a particular deepening of certain lines on his wizened face.

“You wish to send two young children into the wilderness to fend for themselves - in an area I will add that is currently peppered with evil men who wish them mortal harm - out of fear of reprimand from the Grand Master? Do I have that right?”

“N-no, master…” he mumbled, staring at his sandalled feet.

“Good, and never let me hear you say something so cowardly ever again,” he ended his reprimand and turned back to his fish. “Do get the good tea out to stew, though. And get this path swept before he gets here.”

“O-of course, Master.”

* * *

Vegeta stirred, and rolled onto his side. It was cold this high up the mountain, even with the numerous blankets the old monk had given them, and the stretched-hide screens that stood in the absence of windows did little to keep the heat in. He pulled the covers up to his nose and was about to return to slumber when the sound of movement caught his attention. He opened his eyes a crack.

Tarble was up and dressed, and was trying to open the screen to look out of the window. Vegeta sighed and sat up.

“Hang on,” he grumbled, “I’ll help you.”

Tarble stood aside gratefully as Vegeta undid the catch that kept the screen in place and slid it across so that Tarble could see out. The view was of the north side of the mountains, with the head of the Dragon Mountain way off in the distance and the endless expanse of the great Paozu Forest in all other directions. Tarble breathed in sharply with admiration, and Vegeta too had to admit that it was an impressive sight by day.

“What time is it?” Tarble asked him.

“Dunno,” Vegeta murmured, trying to peer at the sun. “Pretty early though.”

“I’m hungry. Can we eat?”

“I expect that monk will have something we can eat,” Vegeta sighed, searching for his shoes and putting them on grudgingly. After a moment’s consideration he also buckled on his sword.

“Can we ask him?”

“I guess, let’s go find him.”

Tarble slipped his hand into his brother’s, who grimaced but did not pull away. They slid open the wooden divider that served as a door and stepped out into the temple.

The small bedroom with its low cots and sanded wooden floor let out to a narrow hallway. Vegeta could see the brazier out front that had held the fire he’d spied from the treetops, now holding only charred wood and ashes, and saw clearly the steps he had stumbled upon the previous night, leading his exhausted little brother by the hand. The hall was open on the adjacent side, and they were now able to see by the light of day the modest inner courtyard that housed the temple’s holy waters. It was a layered structure of ponds, each pretty in its own way, overseen by a large stone turtle at its centre; brightly coloured fish glistened in the morning sun.

“There’s no-one here,” Tarble moaned quietly.

“Stop whining,” Vegeta muttered, pulling Tarble into the garden. “Don’t touch anything.”

“I wasn’t,” he objected, withdrawing his hand quickly back from the sacred pools.

They stepped fully into the morning sunlight, treading carefully between the pools as Vegeta led them through the enclosed garden to the steps on the other side. 

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“Shut up,” Vegeta growled, tugging him up the steps behind him.

“It was just a question,”

“I don’t care, you’re annoying me now.”

“You sound like mother…” Tarble mumbled sullenly, and Vegeta grit his teeth in an attempt to ignore his sibling. He tried a door.

There was nothing of interest behind it, merely some brooms, mops, buckets and other cleaning paraphernalia. He closed it disappointedly, his own stomach now rumbling as hunger encroached. They moved to the next door, and Vegeta almost had his hand on it when a raised voice from behind it stopped him.

“...if the forest wanted them you should have let it claim them!”

It was not the old monk that had sheltered them, but another voice, unfamiliar to them. It had a gravelly, thin quality to it. Vegeta shrank back against the wall, motioning to his brother to do the same.

“It was only a little food and water,” was the old monk’s calm reply. “And they were finding that themselves anyway.”

“Then why intervene?” the first voice queried, clearly very angry.

“I don’t like bullies, Grand Master, and nor can I in good conscience stand by while innocent children suffer on my doorstep.”

“Those ‘innocent children’ are Saiyans, and given their natural lives they will cause more havoc and suffering than you have prevented in saving them.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” the old man replied. “All I know is I felt the Great Dragon speak to me, and he told me to feed those boys.”

There was a pause, punctuated by the Grand Master’s exasperated sigh.

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved, Roshi,” another sigh, “but it’s too late for that. The question now is what to do with them?”

Vegeta realised a few seconds too late that the voices had been moving progressively closer, and was completely unprepared when the door swung open. He tried to double back, but Tarble was too close behind him and he stumbled, letting out an involuntary cry as he fought to maintain his footing.

“What the-?” the Grand Master poked his head out of the meeting room, followed shortly by the old monk Roshi, both peering with calm curiosity at the Saiyan boys before them.

The Grand Master was unlike anything Vegeta had ever seen, short and squat, and covered from head to toe in white fur. He resembled a cat, albeit a very fat one; at first he thought it was an elaborate costume, but then the cat man began to move and he saw that the fur was his in the most literal sense. 

“So I guess we’re skipping the formal introductions then,” the Grand Master remarked, glaring at the boys.

“Oh-ho, I didn’t notice the time,” Roshi said, stepping around the cat man with a wide grin. “Let me guess, you boys are hungry?”

“Roshi-”

“I could eat,” a third voice muttered from within the room.

“Yajirobe, you are  _ not _ helping right now.”

“Shall I get you boys something to eat?” the old monk suggested kindly. Tarble nodded enthusiastically, but Vegeta was back on his feet and pulling his brother back.

“Hold it,” Vegeta said warningly, drawing his sword. “Who are you? What are you planning to do with us?”

The cat man didn’t answer, but he glared at them with mild disdain. Instead Roshi stepped forwards calmly, unperturbed by Vegeta’s quickly raised weapon.

“Stay back!”

“If you say so, but that’s going to delay your breakfast.”

“I heard what you said about us-”

Roshi sighed. Deftly side stepping into the range of Vegeta’s blade the old man unleashed a flurry of gestures, and Vegeta could only stare stupidly as his sword went flying off into the gardens. The old man was so fast, he couldn’t even follow the motions that had led to his disarming, and he was rooted to the spot in shock as the old man stared him down with unreadable eyes.

“Are you quite finished, your highness?”

Vegeta came back to himself and tried to raise his fists to defend himself, but his arm was weighed down by a frantic Tarble.

“Vegeta, stop it,” he moaned, tugging on his brother’s arm. “You’re scaring me.”

“Tarble - damn it! Tarble get off-!”

“I just want breakfast! Why are you fighting?”

“Because they’re gonna do something!” he reasoned lamely, realising belatedly that as yet there had been no attack from his assumed enemies. “They were talking about us.”

“That is true, we were,” Roshi agreed with a slow nod.

“They were talking about what to do with us!” Vegeta rallied, raising just a single fist as Tarble continued to cling onto him.

“Indeed,” Roshi nodded again, “for instance would we feed you here or let you walk up to the Lynx temple for your breakfast? I was going to suggest feeding you  _ before _ we take that little trek, but the Grand Master might have other ideas.”

“I vote both,” came the voice apparently belonging to ‘Yajirobe’, and an enormously rotund man squeezed through the doorframe to join the two monks on the walkway. There was a sword at his side, and he wore monk’s robes, but with his mess of unruly black hair and unkempt stubble he was unlike any monk the boys had ever seen. “Your sword-work is pretty shoddy. You should get better training.”

“How dare you-!”

“They’re proving my point very well,” the Grand Master noted coldly, “Saiyans are violent by nature.”

“They’re scared and hungry,” Roshi countered, not looking away from the boys. “Now, lads, lets have no more of this. I promise I will discuss your options with you over breakfast.”

There was a moment’s silence as Vegeta and the wizened old monk stared each other down.

“Vegeta-”

“I heard him!”

“So answer him.”

“I will! Dragon damn you, Tarble!”

Vegeta’s shoulders sagged, and he lowered his eyes reluctantly. Roshi smiled with satisfaction and dusted his robes.

“Alright then, follow me, boys.”

Breakfast was simple but wholesome, and the boys ate with gusto. Vegeta initially showed suspicion of his portion, but the old monk dutifully swapped their plates and began to eat Vegeta’s portion with an amused glint in his eye. The prince bristled at the subtly mockery implied, and blushed furiously as he ate.

“So the way I see it, Grand Master Korin here has come all this way from the Grand Temple of the Lynx-”

“It’s not that far,” Korin clarified petulantly.

“-So that must mean he’s intending to take you up to the Grand Temple while we put together the means to return you to your homeland. Is that right?”

“More or less,” Korin frowned.

“But what about the bad men?” Tarble quavered.

“That’s our concern now,” Korin tried to assure the smaller boy. “We will have our people scouting the area, and you can stay with us until we know it’s safe for you to leave.”

“Do you know-” Vegeta swallowed heavily, taking a sharp breath as he pressed his emotions down. “Is there any sign of our parents?”

The monks looked at each other for a moment.

“Your camp is entirely overrun,” Roshi answered carefully, “we haven’t been able to get a close look yet.”

“Who were they?” Vegeta asked, his voice strained but under control.

“So far we haven’t been able to get a close look, but some kind of mercenary,” Korin answered.

“The edge of the Paozu Forest seems an odd choice for a normal raid.”

“Indeed.”

“They knew who we were, and they chased us through the forest.”

“Yes, it’s very impressive that you managed to escape.”

“Especially for a kid who can’t even hold his sword properly,” Yajirobe added, irked by the limited contents of his plate.

“Now listen here, you-” Vegeta slammed his palms on the plain wooden table, but was cut off by a gentle hand wave from Master Roshi.

“Your highness will forgive our friend Yajirobe, he travels much and sometimes forgets his manners.”

Yajirobe muttered something into his hand, resting his elbow heavily on the table.

“Please finish your food, boys. It’s an uphill walk to the Grand Temple.”

Vegeta glared again at the fat man, and sat down grudgingly. He lifted his spoon.

“How much further?” Vegeta asked, trying to keep the breathlessness from showing in his voice. The old man hadn’t been lying, the journey was all uphill, and very steep in places. The path was a mix of rock, mud and grass, carved through the forest by generations of monks travelling between their temples. Tarble had given up some ways back and was being carried by the fat man.

“Another mile. We have one more temple to pass,” Korin replied from up ahead. The Grand Master, despite his squat figure, moved nimbly up the rocky mountain path, as light and sure footed as a normal cat.

“Which temple?” Tarble asked from Yajirobe’s back. Since leaving the Temple of the Turtle, they had passed the Temples of the Bat and the Dog and Tarble had shown a great deal of interest. Korin was happy to supply them with knowledge of his order, and the little boy lapped it up greedily. Their compliance as travelling companions and Tarble’s boundless curiosity was softening the monk somewhat.

“The Bull,” Yajirobe grunted.

“Is that another fighter temple?” Tarble asked eagerly.

“Sort of,” Korin smiled, turning back to check on his guests. “They have more of a focus on physical strength and its utilities.”

“Can we stop there?”

“You keep asking that and they keep telling you no,” Vegeta grunted, raising his waterskin to his lips.

“Your brother is correct,” Korin agreed. “We can’t guarantee your safety, best if we head straight to my temple.”

Tarble conceded, though disappointed, and began a stream of questioning that amused Korin, though did nothing to endear him to his other travel companions. Vegeta for his part wished he would shut up entirely, but reflected that at least - for once - someone else was taking the brunt of Tarble’s chatter. He drained his waterskin.

How Tarble could be so openly cheerful at a time like this was beyond him; their parents were missing, presumably dead, and it was unknown if or when they could even return home to take stock of what their lives were now. Vegeta had been performing his duty since the attack, trying to stay strong for his brother, but when they had achieved the safety of the Turtle Master’s temple he’d felt his swiftly erected dams begin to crumble. As Tarble slept soundly Vegeta had wept - silently of course, and only under the cover of total darkness. He thought of how his father would have reacted if he were still alive, how he’d have threatened Vegeta with a hiding unless he stoppered his tears, how his mother would have clipped his ear and told him to grow up, and he cried harder. As his thin pillow grew wet he felt a burning resentment towards the small Saiyan sleeping near him, dreaming calmly as if this were just any camping trip. True, Tarble had not the same relationship with their parents as Vegeta did, but they were still his parents and it irked him that his brother seemed so little concerned.

Maybe it was just a little kid thing, he reasoned glumly, maybe they just didn’t have the capacity to grieve.

“I see it! I see the temple!” Tarble declared excitedly.

Vegeta grit his teeth, and stomped on.

“Now the interesting thing about this temple is that most species of cow can’t live this high up the mountain because the air is so thin,” Korin lectured happily as the temple came into view, set far back in a clearing and surrounded by many tree-stumps, “so they keep a type of mountain buffalo as their sacred animal.”

“Why not call it the Temple of the Buffalo?”

“They like strength, not smarts,” Korin laughed, waving to the distant monks who were training in the courtyard of their temple. They stopped what they were doing and bowed reverently as they passed.

“Are you sure you want to draw attention to us?” Vegeta asked snippily.

“I trust my fellow monks implicitly,” Korin said firmly.

“Anyone can become a monk,” he retorted, glancing at his brother.

“Anyone can become an  _ apprentice, _ ” Korin corrected. “True monks have to pass many trials. Apprentices that fail to adopt conduct befitting of a Dragon Monk are returned to their families.”

“How often does that happen?”

“Now who’s the inquisitive one?” the Grand Master smirked, turning a narrow eye onto Vegeta who blushed angrily. “Fortunately it’s very rare. Our novices are a pretty happy bunch.”

Vegeta glared at his shoes and held his tongue.

“What training are they doing?” Tarble asked.

“Weight training,” Yajirobe grunted inadvisably.

“What’s that?”

The fat man sighed as he explained, Korin chuckled, and all the while Vegeta continued to silently seeth.

It took the rest of the morning and the greater part of the afternoon to complete the journey. After the Temple of the Bull the trees began to thin noticeably, and the air gradually took on a chilly tang. The sparser tree cover meant that they were able to see Korin’s Temple from some distance away, and Vegeta had to endure Tarble’s excited squeals and rapid-fire questions for a good while before they were even at the threshold of the damned place. His irritation was almost such that he struggled to take in the majesty of it himself.

And it  _ was _ majestic. This Temple was so large and populated that it had a separate monastery for the housing of its many caretakers. In the background they were able to see glimpses of the mountaintop way in the distance, covered in snow and ice. Large stone steps, carved straight into the mountainside, led up to the peaked arch of its entryway, and then into a great hall of polished stone full of exquisite carvings, meticulously clean and reverently quiet. Even Tarble managed to keep his verbosity in check. Vegeta noted with wonder the how light streamed in through cleverly designed shutters in the high beamed roof to create a pattern of sunbeams that criss-crossed their path.

Robed monks of varied race and gender travelled to and fro across the great hall way, some carrying reams of parchment, others dealing with janitorial matters, all of them stopping and bowing with respect as the Grand Master Korin passed them with his party. He nodded, immune to the majesty of the structure he’d overseen for so many years, and smiled at his companions’ slack jaws. Tarble in particular was catching flies.

“It’s alright, for what it is,” Korin commented, and then gestured towards the great stone statue that formed the centrepiece of the hall, itself bathed in natural light. It was a huge cat, calm but coiled, waiting to spring, its tufted ears pricked and colourless stone eyes somehow full of life. “I’m pretty fond of that, though. It’s one of our better sculptures.”

“She’s magnificent,” Tarble whispered.

“She?” Vegeta queried, before glancing down to see that between the powerful hind legs and behind a protectively curled tail crouched two small, fluffy kittens. He marvelled at how the sculptor had managed to convey such softness with solid stone.

“Yes, this is our Lynx. We call her Ohiru.”

“Don’t get started on all that,” Yajirobe muttered, glad to be rid of Tarble’s light but noisy burden, “isn’t it lunchtime?”

This got the boys’ attention, and seeing the three hungry faces staring at him Korin sighed resignedly and motioned them to follow him.

“Fine, tour later. Come on.”

The boys slept early that night. Their bellies and their minds were full, as Korin’s tour had taken the remaining daylight hours, though it might not have taken so long had Tarble not asked quite so many questions. Vegeta was glad though, as it prevented any further examination of him and his brother. 

He’d never known his future to be uncertain; always his path was clear, to train to be a great warrior, to study to be a great king, these things were givens. Now he didn’t know if he would ever make it back home, and if he did, there was a chance his father’s court had already replaced his line, undoubtedly with bloodshed. If it was so then he and Tarble might be outcasts - or worse. Where would they go? They had no other family, his father had destroyed their uncles many years before in a struggle for the throne and his mother had no family living.

He’d chuckled bitterly, reflecting that if it came to it, and they managed to escape with their lives, they could always join the monastery and live out their austere, isolated lives on this cold mountainside. These thoughts followed him into sleep and he awoke groggy and ill-tempered.

Tarble prattled the whole morning, through breakfast and beyond, regurgitating to Vegeta everything they had learned the day before about the Dragon Monks. If he were in a better mood he might have been impressed at Tarble’s superior retention of information, but his heart was heavy and his mind tense, brimming with the endless terrible prospects before them, and on more than one occasion he petitioned his brother for silence. As might be expected that silence could only be achieved for a couple of minutes before he would spot something familiar and begin rambling again. Vegeta began to wish that the mercenaries had caught them.

“We’ve been on the mountain for three days!” Tarble exclaimed for the fourth time that morning. “I bet my lungs are lots stronger now!”

“What?”

“The air is thinner on the mountains, so your lungs get used to working with air, so they get stronger when you’re in normal air,” Tarble explained excitedly, trotting across the grass of the training grounds. They were alone for the moment, Korin having been rushed away to receive a messenger and the other monks being busy with their own duties, so they remained in the grassy field watching the novices at pole training.

“Mother always said you had a weak chest,” Vegeta muttered, biting his lip at the mention of his mother. It was true, it had been three days and there was still no word of survivors, no sign of their parents. He was convinced the monks knew more than they let on, but he couldn’t get a straight answer from any of them.

“Do you think we can stay here?” Tarble asked.

“You want to live here?” Vegeta asked, repressing a bitter laugh.

“Yeah, why not?”

“We belong at home, in the palace.”

“You belong at home,” Tarble muttered. “I don’t like it there.”

“It’ll be better,” Vegeta told him, though the truth behind his words was like a knife to his stomach. “I’ll look after you.”

“You mean because mother and father are dead?” he asked, looking his brother directly in the eyes.

“...I didn’t say that.”

“You think it, though.”

“We don’t know anything for sure.”

“You were crying last night, I heard you.”

“I was not!”

“They’re dead, aren’t they?”

“Tarble, that’s enough! It’s been hard enough just keeping your stupid ass alive these last three days without having to think about this as well! You may not care about them but I do!”

Vegeta paused mid-tirade, as his brother burst into weak tears.

“Tarble?”

“I do care - I do!”

“Stop crying,” Vegeta ordered uneasily, glancing at the monks nearby. “Come on, pack it in.”

“I can’t! I stopped asking about mummy and daddy because you told me to, and now you -  _ hic  _ \- talk like I don’t care about them because I was doing what you said!”

“Alright, let’s just slow down a second-”

“No! I’ve been doing my best to be happy for you and now you’re angry with me for not being sad enough!” Tarble sobbed gently, his face in his hands. “What do you  _ want, _ brother?”

“I just want you to stop crying,” Vegeta returned, his own eyes beginning to prickle. “And not to ask me questions I can’t answer.”

“You’re my brother. Who else can I ask?” he warbled miserably. “I want to know where my mummy and daddy are. I want to know if they’re alive! No-one in the palace likes me and if they’re dead I might as well not go home! Why are you the only one who’s allowed to feel anything?”

“That’s not… I mean, I didn’t…” Vegeta faltered, biting his lip. He hated when Tarble had these moments of piercing clarity. “Look we can’t stay here, we need to go home. If home isn’t good for us anymore ...we’ll go somewhere else, but wherever we go we need to stick together. I have to take care of you, it’s my job.”

“You don’t want to though.”

“It’s not about that, it’s…” Vegeta stood some moments, grappling with the concepts of desire and duty and trying to formulate the words, “I have to... because I want to and I want to because I have to. Right?”

“...What?”

“Just ...shut up and ...I don’t know,” Vegeta sat down heavily next to his brother on the grass, pulling the smaller child with him. “Just sit here and calm down will you?”

Tarble acquiesced, and though his crying didn’t swell into the tantrum that Vegeta had feared it didn’t really lessen.

“What if they’re dead?” he asked wetly.

“I don’t know, Tarble,” Vegeta replied honestly.

“What if we can’t go home?”

“We’ll find somewhere else.”

“Like here?”

“It’s ...an option. Being a monk doesn’t look like much fun though.”

“Lots of books,” Tarble sniffed, wiping his nose on his borrowed monk’s robes.

The boys fell into sorrowful silence. Tarble put his head on his brother’s arm, and - despite very much wanting to - Vegeta didn’t push him away.

Korin sighed into his hands, and glanced out of the window to where the boys sat watching the novices at their training. The smaller boy was resting his head on his brother’s arm, a sign of physical affection that the Grand Master hadn’t expected to see in Saiyans. His office was modest, a small apartment that adjoined the great hall of the temple, and afforded a good view of the grounds.

“You’re absolutely sure?” he asked of the scout, a member of the Temple of the Kite.

“Yes, Grand Master. Both aerial and terrestrial scouts have confirmed it,” she nodded, her face grim.

“This does complicate matters.”

“It seems a highly unlikely coincidence, sir.”

“Too true, and for  _ him _ of all people… we ought to be on our guard. How long until he arrives?”

“Within the next hour or so.”

“Make sure the boys are kept hidden,” Korin ordered her, “in the meantime I had best prepare for this… visit.”

“Yes, sir. And what of my Master’s guest?”

“Keep that quiet for now, and don’t tell those boys anything just yet,” he added, “they’ve been through enough for now.”

“Anything else?”

“No Golin, thank you,” Korin dismissed the Kite, and she bowed swiftly before disappearing from his office. Moments later he spied her from his window as she hurried over to the boys and, after a brief tete a tete, led them away in the direction of the monastery. He sighed again and rubbed his face, pausing to take a small drink of his personal tonic. He grimaced as it went down; it was a bitter liquid made from a special type of bean that only grew at high altitudes, but it was a very useful little drink when one required more than the usual amount of fortitude. He called to a novice apprentice, a young man serving his time as an assistant, who attended promptly.

“Yes, Grand Master Korin, how may I be of service?”

“Please fetch the tea set that the Spice Kingdom sent, and the tea table from the West Empire. Oh heck, and my best robes.”

“The ones with the gold trim?”

“Yes,  _ those  _ ones,” Korin said, his lip twisting in a wry frown at the thought of the over-designed garment. He almost never wore it, and certainly not for genuine pilgrims, but this was not a matter of religion. No, he thought shrewdly, this was a matter of politics, and if there was one thing he hated it was politics.

“Right away sir. Will you dress here?”

“Yes, thank you,” and the novice bowed deeply and scurried away.

It was true that Korin famously despised politics, his distaste for it only matched by his skill at it. He wasn’t the Grand Master for nothing, and while his determined political neutrality had helped win him that premiership, it was his sharp skills that kept him there. He glanced out of the window to check the progress of the Saiyans, and was pleased to find them nowhere to be seen; Master Gohan’s apprentices were always exemplars of manners and efficiency. Now he had only himself to arrange. He waited reluctantly for the young man to return with his gaudy robes


	3. Chapter 3

“Where is Master Korin?” Tarble asked of their new guide.

“ _ Grand _ Master Korin,” Sister Golin corrected, allowing his hand to slip into hers. She saw the older boy make a face at that. “He has unexpected visitors.”

“Can we go meet them?”

“No, little one, it’s best that your visit here remains a secret for now.”

“Because of the bad men?”

She nodded and he looked glumly at his feet.

“Your eyes are red, little prince. Did you not sleep well?”

Tarble glanced at his brother, “I  _ am  _ a little tired.”

“Well how about some food, eh?” she offered, nodding towards the monastery. “Us monks like to eat, so there’s always something cooking.”

“Can we see the lynx again first?” Tarble asked, his small face turned up to hers in hope.

“The lynx?”

“Ohiru, I’d like to see her again.”

“Oh that,” she frowned, “maybe later.”

“Hey,” the older boy asked from a few paces behind. He’d stopped and was glaring at the obscuring tree line. “What’s that?”

“What do you mean?” Golin answered cautiously.

“That noise, beyond the forest,” his nose wrinkled up into a suspicious scowl. “That sounds like ...an airship.”

“I can hear it too,” Tarble chimed in, tilting his head towards the sound.

“I can’t hear anything.”

“Keep listening.”

She waited a few seconds until, sure enough, the tell-tale  _ thump-thump-thump _ of an airship’s engines emerged in the distance, faint but growing louder with proximity.

“Are they the Grand Master’s visitors?” the elder boy asked.

“If they are it’s certainly none of your business,” she replied archly.

“I thought you couldn’t land an airship on this terrain.”

“You can’t,” she sighed, seeing that he would not be deterred. “They’re going to drop their passengers a little further down the mountain and come up via Snake Way.”

“Bypassing the majority of the path,” Vegeta added quietly, “that’s not how a pilgrimage is meant to be conducted, is it?”

“They’re cheating?” Tarble asked, aghast.

“Come on, I think there’s still porridge left from the morning-”

“My father is a king, and he can’t afford an airship,” Vegeta continued, seemingly rooted to the spot, “so who is so rich and yet so lacking in respect to be visiting the Grand Master of the Dragon Monks like this?”

“Your highness-”

“And only a couple of days after my camp was attacked, my parents possibly murdered,” Vegeta’s fists clenched at his side, and he took a step towards the temple, “who  _ is _ that?”

“None of your concern!” Golin tried to grab his hand but he snatched it away, glaring at her. 

“You are not permitted to touch me,” he snapped.

“Then you’d better come get some food, else you’ll be going over my shoulder, young man.”

“How dare you-”

“No, none of that, thank you very much,” she advised, glad that igniting his temper seemed to have distracted him from the approaching ‘pilgrims’. “You may be a prince but on our mountain you have no more authority than any other eight year old. We’ve been very patient up to now but I would suggest for your own dignity that you follow me, your highness.”

His glower only darkened, his lip curling in disgust. Golin was trying not to laugh.

“Please.”

“Fine, I don’t care anyway,” the child spat, stepping past her and stomping ill-naturedly towards the monastery. 

She sighed in relief, and gave little Tarble’s hand a pat.

“It’s okay,” he smiled, “he does that a lot.”

Her heart swelled with pity for the little lad, but she didn’t let it show. Instead she gave his hand a little tug and followed Vegeta.

* * *

It wasn’t a throne precisely, but it was a rather large, rather comfortable and rather imposing ‘chair’. That was what Korin insisted to anyone who listened when its use was called for, explaining this as he sat in his ‘chair’, raised high above any other seat in the hall, beneath the great mural of a springing lynx that adorned the far wall, facing the grand entrance and flanked by apprentices of various temples. He knew it wasn’t a throne, of course, but his guests could be forgiven for making that mistake; he certainly hoped they would.

A novice approached the not-throne, bowing deeply as he did so. Korin ushered him forward.

“Please, Grand Master, his Imperial Majesty has arrived.”

Korin stroked his furry face, lips pressed together.

“He ...awaits your permission to present his tribute.”

He didn’t answer immediately, instead leaning over to Brother Yajirobe and whispering something. The fat man nodded in agreement.

“We have preparations to make. Tell them we’ll let them know when they can come in.”

“I…” the novice looked about the hall, saw the pre-set tea tables and the conspicuous absence of bustle, but thought better of his question. He bowed again. “Of course Grand Master.”

As Korin watched the young novice scurry back the way he’d come, he found himself wishing that he’d brought more than just the children back from the Turtle Master’s; as infuriating as his former student was, Master Roshi was surprisingly good at diplomacy. He cursed himself for not exerting his rank and forcing the old man to leave his Temple to his apprentice, but that was very much his own fault for instilling such a devotion to duty.

“How long d’you wanna make him wait?” Yajirobe asked in what he probably thought was a whisper.

“Just long enough that he doesn’t think he’s special,” Korin replied.

“Do I have time for a snack?”

“What do you think?”

Yajirobe looked at the hall, the steaming pots of tea keeping warm on the embers, the nervous monks stood in the shadows near the walls waiting to attend to the guests, and shrugged. He started to move away but Korin grabbed his robe. 

"No, the answer was obviously no!" 

"Are you serious?" he muttered. "I can't believe you're this riled up over some dumb emperor." 

"Hush, Yajirobe. This is hardly the time." 

His right hand man shrugged again, leaning casually against the raised dais of Korin's not-throne. Knowing that was probably the best he would get out of him for now Korin grit his teeth and nodded to a different novice monk, who immediately sped away to invite their guests in. 

"You are to say  _ nothing,  _ do you understand, Yajirobe?" 

"Sure, whatever." 

The novice soon returned, walking with his hands together in front of him, at a stately pace. Behind him followed a tall individual in gleaming plate armour and his attendants. He was handsome, pale skinned, and had unusually long and well-kept hair for a soldier. Korin narrowed his eyes. 

"Grand Master," quavered the apprentice, bowing apologetically, "General Zarbon of Lord Freeza's imperial army."

Zarbon bowed too, his movements graceful but needlessly showy, a gesture more befitting a ballroom than a religious rite.

"I welcome you, pilgrim," Korin stated calmly, "but I was expecting to receive your master." 

"Of course, Grand Master Korin, in due time. I have merely come ahead of him to introduce his Imperial Majesty properly." 

"All pilgrims are equal in the sight of the Great Dragon-" one of Korin's advanced apprentices began to scold the visitor, but was hushed by Korin. 

"Unconventional," Korin said smoothly, forcing himself not to scowl at the impertinence, "but I will allow it." 

He and Zarbon eyed each other for a few moments before the latter inclined his head with a smug smile. 

"You are kindness, itself," he extolled before turning to his servant and quietly giving him an order. He turned back to Korin and his small assembly. "Grand Master Korin, formal representative of the holy order of the Dragon Monks, may I present to you my master, his high lordship, King of the Western Seas, Lord of the Skies, Jewel of the Cold Dynasty and the High Lord of the West Empire, his Imperial Majesty Emperor Freeza."

Zarbon stepped to one side and bowed reverently towards the entrance of the temple, as in unison did his attendants. All eyes were on the stone steps where, with choreographed timing, a palanquin of ostentatious proportions and design now appeared, gilded and lavishly fitted up with expensive fabric of the richest hues. As it rose further up the steps and fully into view Korin could observe the servants upon whose well-trained backs it was being ambulated. 

No, not servants, Korin realised with abhorrence,  _ slaves.  _

The palanquin glided towards the assembly with practiced grace, their steps so perfectly timed that not a bump or shudder would be felt by the occupant. They stopped in unison, and with incredibly disciplined movements lowered it perfectly to the ground. They then each crouched at their respective corners, their foreheads touching the polished stone of the floor, and were completely still. In such a position one could clearly see the healed scars of whip lashes on their bare backs. Korin was utterly appalled. 

Zarbon stepped lightly to his master's vessel and pulled back the heavy curtain, averting his head as he did so. He too went completely still, and there was a hushed silence as they waited. A small, exquisite shoe appeared, then another, swiftly followed by the rest of the body as the Lord Emperor Freeza emerged from his litter, smiling.

Korin had heard stories of course, he’d had the emperor described physically to him many times, but having never met him for himself he was unprepared for the sight of him. He was short and slim, with a calm presence, but he radiated strength in a way that Korin couldn’t quite put a finger on. He had no armour, but instead wore a doublet of rich silk brocade, pale cream with purple hems and buttons up the middle, belted diagonally with a purple-dyed leather strap and a gold clasp. With this he wore voluminous knee breeches, also cream but with fabric slits so that the rich purple inner fabric could be seen, and his white leggings disappeared into dainty shoes, nicely heeled with golden toe-caps. A three-quarter length purple velvet cape with a white fur trim framed his figure. His doublet had a high collar, almost to the point of resembling a ruff, with lace framing the chin and jaw of his perfectly painted face.

And it was the face that arrested Korin; pale, cold and sharp, it seemed the face of a young man, which he knew to be impossible. Emperor Freeza had ruled for the better part of a century, he ought to be ancient, and there was no amount of make-up that could disguise age like that. His skin gleamed, clean and smooth, his purple lips frozen in a permanent smirk. His eyes looked out from under a soft hat, purple velvet with a white feather, and a white fur trim that matched his cloak. Those same eyes, unnaturally red and lined skillfully with black ink, were now locked on Korin, and he had to suppress a shudder. He was often spoken of by those who had more confidence than sense as the ‘Painted Emperor’ and Korin could now see why.

“I welcome you, pilgrim,” the Grand Master intoned dutifully. “For what purpose do you seek the blessing of the Great Dragon?”

“It has been many years since I’ve paid tribute here and have come to pay my dues,” Emperor Freeza replied smoothly, his words perfectly enunciated. “I have no particular request of the Great Dragon, only that his disciples will kindly accept my gifts, tokens of my appreciation for the holy work that you do.”

“I can accept your tribute on behalf of the Great Dragon,” Korin replied carefully. 

“Excellent,” Freeza replied, and clapped his thin, pale hands sharply; his nails were painted the same purple shade as his lips. Eight more slaves appeared at the entrance to the temple, hefting between them two ornamental chests on carrying poles. Korin suppressed a cringe as they marched towards his assembly, with Freeza advancing leisurely behind them. He gave a sharp command in a foreign language and they set the boxes down swiftly, then an appointed member of each group unclasped the chests and opened them to reveal the contents.

The tribute seemed exactly correct, containing luxurious but useful items like tea, china, rare herbs and spices, and only the occasional piece of useless ostentation was visible as the slaves followed their well rehearsed performance of dissembling and laying out the tribute for display. Freeza had not made the mistake of many Kings and Queens of trying to impress the unworldly monks with gold and jewels - items for which they had no use. The last item to be brought out was a long, wide wooden case. It was placed in the middle of the display and opened directly. This time Korin could not prevent his expression from darkening.

It was a cache of coin, neatly stacked in a variety of colour and denomination, but of a currency not familiar to him. He raised his chin slightly, nostrils flaring.

“I know, I know,” Freeza laughed, holding his hand to his mouth, “the Dragon Monks eschew material wealth, but there is only so much tea I can bring you. You would be able to use this gift to perform many great works or acts of charity. Everyone knows that the allegiance of your order cannot be purchased, this is merely an offering from a humble pilgrim, one I hope you will be able to use to spread good across this land.”

“I don’t recognise the currency,” Korin replied carefully. “Perhaps you would be better off taking it back and using it to spread good yourself.”

“Spoken wisely, of course, but you’ll forgive me for exercising foresight in this matter, Grand Master,” Freeza replied smoothly. “The landscape of this continent is changing, and I am sure you don’t have a store of this particular coinage. I think in the coming years you will find it ...useful.”

Yajirobe examined a coin, then leaned back to whisper in Korin’s pricked ear.

“Brother Yajirobe tells me this is the currency of your empire.”

“Indeed,” Freeza nodded, his fixed smile never changing.

“Kalds?”

“Correct again, wise Grand Master.”

Korin held the Emperor’s red eye for a few more moments. There was nothing to read in those bloody orbs, no humanity in that cold smile.

“This tribute will be put to good use,” Korin told him, being careful not to thank him. “Novices, would you please store this lot away?”

The slaves, at a single word from Freeza, moved to pack the tribute back in the chests, but Korin held up a furry paw.

“That is not necessary,” he ordered. The slaves clearly did not understand Common and only halted at another word from Freeza. “My novices are perfectly capable of packing boxes.”

“As you wish, Grand Master,” Freeza agreed, inclining his head. “In the meantime, shall I dispense with my little retinue?”

“That would be appropriate,” he replied stiffly.

At another command, the slaves leapt to action, removing the palanquin and the carrying poles from the hall.

“Enough formality,” Korin decided, rising to his feet, “shall we take tea?”

* * *

Vegeta pushed the dregs of his porridge around his bowl. He’d eaten most of it with his usual appetite, but his taste for the bland stuff was dropping at about the same rate as his temper was rising. He glared at Sister Golin as she chatted away with Tarble.

“No, this isn’t the ‘head temple’. There isn’t really one, per se,” she explained patiently. “It happens to be the temple that the Grand Master presides over, and so currently it’s where we get the most pilgrims, but a pilgrimage can be to any temple. It’s one way to tell a true pilgrim apart, they go to the temple that best reflects their religiosity.”

“Do different temples represent different things?”

“Yes, they do. For instance the Temple of the Lynx represents restrained strength and discipline.”

“What about the nice Turtle Master?”

“His temple,” she said, her mouth wrinkling as she repressed a wry grin, “represents, uh, fortitude and, um-”

“Sedentary lifestyles?” Vegeta suggested meanly.

“I was going to say satisfaction in the simple aspects of living.”

“That’s why it’s so small,” he remarked, dropping his spoon, “because it’s the temple of no ambition.”

“You would do to speak of our order with respect while in this house,” she told him coldly, “especially of the man who saved your life.”

“I need to use the washroom,” he replied, unconcerned by her warning.

“I’ll take you now,” she sighed.

“I don’t need a babysitter. Just tell me where it is.”

“Come this way, your highness,” she ignored him, getting to her feet.

“Oh for- fine, whatever,” he growled, following her.

“Remain here, please,” she said to Tarble, who nodded with his mouth full of porridge and honey.

She led him in silence through the corridors, ignoring the daggers he glared into her back. When they reached the communal toilets she stopped and waved him in.

"I'll wait outside, your highness." 

"Are you sure?" he muttered sarcastically. "I thought you'd want to supervise the whole procedure." 

"I'm just following orders, kid," she crossed her arms and leant against the wall. "Now go do your business."

He scoffed and slid open the door, shutting it firmly behind him. 

The first thing he did was scan the room. A set of commodes like this, even if they were plumbed, had to be vented somehow. There were no vents, the monks seeming to reject modern wonders of engineering, but a brief investigation turned up a window. It was quite high, but the frame was hinged and the window was open. He grinned. 

Taking a run up, he leapt at the wall, scrambled a couple of feet up and gripped the window ledge just as gravity reasserted its dominance. He pushed up with his legs, pulling his weight with his arms and with a small effort was able to swing his legs over, twisting his body through the gap. He clung to the ledge for another moment, assessing his descent, before carefully releasing. It was a three metre fall, but he hit the grass rolling and was safely on his feet. He smirked briefly before taking off silently towards the temple. 

His father always told him to never trust a coincidence, and he found it  _ very _ coincidental that a rich and powerful person was making a 'pilgrimage' mere days after raiders had attacked his father's camp. It was also quite the coincidence that raiders just happened to come across them when neither their journey nor route were a matter of public knowledge. Those mercenaries knew who he was and were specifically chasing him and Tarble, and he wouldn't rest until he knew exactly who and why-

"Where're you going?" 

Vegeta stopped in his tracks, nearly falling over in surprise, as Tarble stepped out from behind a low wall. 

"What- how did you-?" 

"I got bored, then I heard Golin shouting to some other monks, so I figured either you'd pooped real bad or you'd escaped. So I just came outside while they were all running around looking for you. They didn't even notice." 

"Go back," Vegeta growled, looking around for anyone who might have seen them. 

"No way! You're going to see the lynx without me!" 

"No I'm- actually yes, I am. I want to see the lynx again, but if you come I'll get caught so you're not coming." 

"I am too!" Tarble retorted, puffing out his cheeks in childish indignation. "If you go without me I'll tell everyone where you are!" 

"Tarble, why are you always like this?" Vegeta hissed in frustration. 

"I'll scream," the little boy warned, taking a big breath in anticipation. 

"Agh! Fine! Hold my hand and  _ stay quiet.  _ You have to do  _ exactly _ what I tell you, okay?" 

"Sure!" he beamed, his red face subsiding as he put his hand into his brother's. 

"No talking, no questions, got it?" he told him, keeping low and pulling Tarble behind him as they scurried towards the temple. 

"Got it." 

* * *

"But why don't we just go in the front?" Tarble whispered as his brother jimmied the window open from the outside. 

"I told you," he sweated, "no damned questions." 

"Need help?"

"Tarble!" 

"Sorry." 

The window gave and Vegeta dropped the piece of scrap metal he'd been using as a lever, wiping his forehead. 

"Look, there might be a bad man in there, okay? And I want to know what him and that old cat are talking about. I need you to be quiet." 

"So we're not going to see the Lynx?" Tarble whispered as Vegeta lifted him up and pushed him through the now open window.

"Later. For now just… pretend we're on a spying mission, okay?"

“Ooh, a spy mission? That sounds like fun!”

Vegeta leapt up himself and scrambled through the window. They were in a store-room of some kind, full of spare clothes, parchments and other sundry supplies.

“Right, and I’m the master spy, and you’re, um, you’re…” Vegeta cast his eyes around the room, his eyes stopping on a set of novice robes, “...you’re my apprentice! So you have to be quiet and listen to your teacher, okay?”

“Cool! I’m an apprentice spy!”

“Yes, yes you are. Now here, put these on,” Vegeta ordered, sifting through the dusty old robes, looking for something to fit them both.

“Mine are too long.”

“Here, lift it up, and get the belt like this, and… there,” Vegeta stepped back to look his brother over. It wasn’t great, but at a distance he could pass as a novice. “Keep the hood up, keep your face down and don’t do or say anything unless I tell you to.”

“Yes, master!”

He handed Tarble a pile of blank parchments, grabbing stationary and other dull looking things himself in an attempt to look like a busy monk going about his business. He cracked the door and glanced down the corridor, then nodded to Tarble to follow him as he stepped out of the room.

He didn’t know the way to the main hall, but he made sure to step with purpose, keeping his hooded head towards the floor to avoid recognition from the occasional legitimate monk that passed them. He was beginning to doubt himself and his clever plan when he caught the muffled sound of echoing voices, one of which he identified as Korin. He stopped Tarble, checking in all directions, before continuing more slowly along the corridor. Around a corner the hall opened up before them, the back entrance unguarded. He raised his little bundle of quills and ink pots to his chest and shuffled forwards quietly, Tarble doing the same.

“...Yes, it was entirely by accident that we even knew what had occurred,” a reedy, effeminate voice floated out to them, reverberating on the stone walls of the hall. “Of course when my scouts reported what had happened to my vassal King Vegeta I couldn’t move on until I had delivered retribution.”

Vegeta froze in his tracks, keeping to the shadows; he recognised that voice.

“So it’s true, the Saiyan King is dead?”

Vegeta gripped the wall, his breath catching in his throat.

“Regrettably, yes. Of course my men made swift work of the aggressors, and his memory at least has been avenged,” the first voice replied sadly. “We questioned the survivors, and it appears they were nothing more than an opportunistic band of out of work mercenaries. They practically stumbled upon the Saiyan encampment, and in the fracas they mistakenly killed the King and Queen. The young princes are also missing, presumed dead. It is fortuitous that I was making this pilgrimage, else I might never have been able to avenge my friend King Vegeta. If only I had thought to leave just a day or two earlier, so much blood-shed might have been avoided…”

Gritting his teeth and willing his stomach to remain where it was, Vegeta peered around the corner. Monks lined the walls, some of whom now began to look their way, but none moved; they were transfixed by the group sat around the tea table in front of the dais.

Korin was instantly recognisable, though adorned in some gaudy robes that seemed out of character for him, but the other three were not familiar to the young prince. The first he noticed, the tallest, was a young-ish man, pale, with a wealth of long, shiny hair, tidily braided. He was handsome, in that way that girls seemed to like, but Vegeta didn’t like his face; it was smug, complacent, and despite his full array of armour he seemed more of a fop than a warrior to Vegeta. The third individual was a curious sight to him, short and plump with a wide smile and a calm, calculating eyes; her short, lilac bob and the almost blue tinge to her skin was as unsettling as it was unnatural. She wore an unflattering dress of linen, simple in appearance but he could tell even at this distance that the fabric was valuable. His eyes flicked to the final participant, and his heart froze.

What he recognised first was not the understated yet somehow still opulent garb, the silks, the puffed sleeves and pants, the velvets, nor was it the oddly hairless and colourless skin, or the unusual painted face that smirked knowingly at the hosts: it was the eyes. Vegeta had seen those eyes once before, when he was very young, the only time he had ever seen his father truly afraid.

Emperor Freeza, among his many other titles, the ruler of the West Empire and his father’s vassal lord, sat bare feet away from him, nonchalantly sipping tea while regaling his audience with the story of Vegeta’s father’s demise. He remembered the same red eyes, the same hooting little laugh, from his visit to his father’s court. He remembered the insults, the veiled threats, the way his father’s men trembled, and - after Prince Vegeta had spoken up to defend his father against Freeza’s constant little barbs - he remembered very clearly the beating.

_ “You never - ever! - speak to Lord Freeza that way!” _ his father had screamed that evening as he thrashed Vegeta from one end of the nursery to the other. The smacks hurt less than the sense of betrayal, but as he grew older he came to understand that the king was acting from a sense of duty, despite the cruelty of his methods. A beaten child, the king reasoned, was better than a dead one.

“I shall of course drop into King Vegeta’s court on my journey home and relay the sad, sad news,” Emperor Freeza drawled. “The Northlands were on my route anyway, and there will be some necessary stewardship that I will need to undertake, as is my duty.”

“Who’s that?” Tarble whispered - too loudly for Vegeta’s liking.

“Never mind that, we have to go,” Vegeta hissed, his stomach twisting in complicated knots. Grief and fear battled for dominance.

“Did he say daddy and mummy’re dead?” Tarble asked quietly, ignoring his brother’s warning.

“We’ll talk outside,” Vegeta replied, grateful that they were whispering and his brother wouldn’t hear his voice cracking.

“But the lynx-”

“Shh,” Vegeta all but put his hand over Tarble’s mouth and started to double back towards the corridor, but just as he did a small band of monks appeared coming in their direction, blocking their path. He considered waiting a minute for them to pass, but something in their bearing or the fit of their stolen robes must have made them conspicuous, because a couple of the oncomers began to level curious stares at the two boys. One of them began to whisper to her fellow, and they increased their pace.

Vegeta didn’t wait; he snatched up Tarble’s hand and, spinning on his heel, marched him quietly into the main hall, trying to affect the demure posture of a novice monk on his way to yet another menial chore. Tarble was struggling to hold his parchment, so Vegeta released his hand, confident that the child knew what he intended.

A glance over his shoulder confirmed the monks had ended their pursuit, staring with gaping mouths both at the two boys making good their escape and the Painted Emperor sitting at their finest tea table. Their expressions were aghast and Vegeta wondered momentarily if he’d made a mistake in fleeing the monks. He glanced back at Tarble, just to be sure.

Tarble was gone.

Vegeta stumbled slightly, panicked, looking around for his brother in the otherwise silent hall. A moment of inspiration hit him and he glanced in the direction of the lynx statue: there was Tarble, shuffling his tiny feet towards Ohiru in full view of the assembled monks, masters and Emperor Freeza. Vegeta could have screamed.

He had no choice, he had to follow Tarble. The decision of whether to chase or quietly pursue was made by his own feet as he sped across the hall to catch his wayward brother. He was painfully aware of the sounds his leather soles made on the smooth stone, the rustle of his robes as his short legs propelled him towards his kin. He was taller and swifter than Tarble, and he had the boy in hand in seconds, but it was too late; Tarble cried out and dropped his parchment when Vegeta grabbed him, alerting their hosts and subsequently the guests. Freeza was staring at them with cold interest.

“Hey!” Tarble snapped instinctively, flailing at his brother. In doing so, he knocked off both of their hoods.

“Tarble,” Vegeta hissed as quietly as he could, trying to hide his face. “You’re gonna get us killed!”

In his periphery vision he saw Freeza rise from his seat at the low tea table. He dropped his own bundle of scribe supplies and pulled Tarble who, suddenly attuned to his brother’s alarm, followed him immediately, but there was nothing for it now; Freeza had barked something in a strange language, and at the entrance of the hall a line of helmeted heads appeared, followed by the bodies and weapons of perfectly trained soldiers now marching up the great steps. Vegeta doubled back, dragging his increasingly frantic brother who was trying to whisper apologies as his eyes and nose streamed. This way too was blocked as Freeza’s hitherto inert warrior had also risen and was approaching them with his hand on his weapon.

“Lord Freeza,” Korin growled warningly, “I would advise against committing any act of violence in my house.”

“Ought I to take the advice of a liar?” Freeza snarled, turning his red eyes on the cat.

“Stand your men down and perhaps we can discuss what you mean by that.”

Freeza glared at Korin a moment longer before returning his bloody gaze to his subjects and issuing a further command. The soldiers stopped, though did not retreat, effectively blocking the exit. Zarbon inclined his head to his emperor, awaiting instruction.

_ This is it, _ Vegeta decided, gripping Tarble’s hand as firmly as he could,  _ it’s run or die. _

He darted towards the entrance on the other side of the dais to the one through which they’d entered, hoping to dodge the foppish soldier. Somehow, and through some means he didn’t understand, his escape was unsuccessful. The tall man had intercepted them.

“Let go of me!” Tarble screeched as he was hauled up by the back of his robes. Vegeta himself was caught by the wrist, and was fighting with all of his might to be released. In desperation he began to gather up his stores of magic energy.

_ Relax, _ a voice whispered in his ear. He ducked, darting around to try to identify the voice.  _ You’re alright, child. Be calm. _

He felt his muscles untense, his fists unclench, as his body, without his bidding, followed the mysterious voice’s command. The source was still unknown to him, but as his eyes flicked around the room they settled on the odd little woman sat at the tea table. She gave him an unreadable smile.

Tarble had followed suit, and was hanging from the tall man’s fist, his body limp but his face a mask of terror.

“Your Grace,” the little woman said quietly.

“Berryblue,” the emperor growled warningly, but her smile remained fixed. He sighed sharply. “Get back to your posts! This is hallowed ground, show some respect,” he snapped at his own soldiers, who retreated smartly back down the steps and out of view. Vegeta saw out of the corner of his eye the fat monk re-sheath his half-drawn sword.

“There appears to be some misunderstanding,” Freeza said, his voice laced with furious venom. “Would you care to explain to me why my vassal’s heirs are masquerading in your temple as a couple of novice apprentices?”

Korin didn’t answer immediately, his steely gaze firmly levelled at the two boys. With a sigh he rose to his feet.

“Upon reflection you’ll realise that you never asked me if I knew of their whereabouts.”

“I told you they were lost, presumed dead-!”

“And I said nothing.”

Freeza opened his mouth to reply, but no sound issued forth. He glared at Korin and at his own attendants in indiscriminate fury.

“Oh now, your majesty,” Korin smiled in a genial way. “Don’t tell me the cat’s got your tongue?”

Vegeta could feel Freeza’s rage, could see the blood rising to his pale cheeks. The little emperor clenched his shaking fists, the knuckles white, his teeth bared and gritted. He held his breath, certain a line had just been crossed and he would finally be forced to witness the truth of Freeza’s vicious reputation.

But then Freeza laughed, slightly at first as if unintended but building in volume as the joke sank in. It was a shrill, reedy laugh, but as far as Vegeta could tell it was genuine. The emperor put his hand affectedly to his mouth, his anger seeming to burst out of him in the form of mirth. Vegeta was completely bewildered.

“I think the ‘cat’ did indeed have my tongue in this case,” he admitted, his posture growing less aggressive, but Vegeta noted one of his fists remained clenched. “Perhaps my ire was overly hasty, but I do wish to register my displeasure that you were not forthcoming with their whereabouts. These princes are my responsibility.”

“I make no apology,” Korin shrugged, sipping his tea. “I consider their safety to be  _ my  _ responsibility as well, at least for as long as they are my guests, and I felt it best not to advertise their location while both their court and family were in uproar. I would no sooner turn over the identities of any other refugee that came to me for aid, be they peasant or prince, until I was totally convinced of their safety.”

“Grand Master, you wound me,” Freeza replied with contrived hurt, “to think I would not be a suitable guardian for these lads. Why, I’ve known them since they were babies and - Zarbon would you  _ please _ stop swinging those children around? Put the poor things down!”

Zarbon, who had in fact been stood entirely still with a hanging Tarble in one hand and Vegeta’s semi-limp wrist in the other, complied immediately, bowing an apology to the erroneous accusation.

“Boys, don’t you remember me?” Freeza asked them genially, stepping towards them with his arms spread. “Prince Tarble, you might have been too young, but Prince Vegeta, there’s no doubt that you recall our last meeting?”

Vegeta did remember, and the ice in his stomach seemed to grow colder and heavier as Freeza took another step. He tried to retreat but his feet wouldn’t respond.

“No need to be shy, we’re all friends here,” Freeza purred. “Do you recognise me, boy?”

Vegeta nodded stiffly.

“Who am I?”

“Lord Emperor Freeza of the West Empire, King of the Western Seas, Lord o-of the s-ky…”

“Oh no-one here cares about all that,” Freeza waved his hand nonchalantly. “Did you also know that I’m your godfather?”

“I-I…” Vegeta stammered. “I didn’t…”

“That was remiss of your father not to tell you,” Freeza said, a cold edge to his voice. “But it never does well to speak ill of the dead.”

“So he’s gone,” the words were out of Vegeta’s mouth before he could stop them, and they were met with silence. The soldier, Zarbon, put an awkward hand on the boy’s shoulder, whether a show of genuine concern or the counterfeit appearance of it Vegeta could not tell.

“Of course, you wouldn’t have known,” Freeza said, his fingers held to his lips in thought. “I should have been more careful with my words. I apologise, of course.”

Tarble was crying - silently for once, which was a blessing to Vegeta.

“Come here, lads,” he urged, and they shuffled over, their legs heavy with fear and sadness. “I don’t recall you being shy, Vegeta. Why the hesitation?”

He could make no reply.

“It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you. Let me look at you,” he lifted Vegeta’s chin with one unnaturally cold hand. “My, how you’ve grown.”

He stared into the emperor’s red eyes, and he could see nothing. It scared him.

“Now that our misunderstanding is cleared up,” he said, returning his attention to Korin but not releasing the child, “I will be more than happy to take these two off of your hands.”

“That’s a generous offer, but I don’t know if that’s the best course for them at this time.”

“They are royalty, of a house currently badly afflicted by tragedy, they ought to be with their own caste.”

“I don’t think the Palace of Vegeta is particularly safe for them at this moment,” Korin replied stiffly.

“Which is why they’ll remain with me.”

“Children are a blessing but also a grave responsibility-” Korin started.

“Oh Berryblue knows how to raise children, don’t you?”

“Indeed, your grace,” said the squat woman. Vegeta felt a shiver as he realised he recognised her as the disembodied voice of mere seconds ago. She looked at him, and smirked.

“I will take them home and look after them until we can sort out the mess in the Northlands,” he stated firmly, released Vegeta’s chin and putting his hand instead on his shoulder. “You needn’t have a qualm about releasing these boys to their legal guardian. I can have the relevant documents regarding my legitimacy sent to you at a later date, but for now I think it expedient to get them to my palace where they can be properly cared for. You wouldn’t want the order to be seen as participating in politics now, would you?”

“The Dragon Monks have no allegiances to any nation and take sides in no conflicts. We provide a safe and neutral haven to those who wish to devote their lives to study and worship of the Great Dragon,” Korin intoned, almost automatically. “It is very kind of you to take on these children, I’m sure they will be very grateful for your care and guidance.”

“Excellent. I shall make arrangements-”

“And I will  _ of course _ be sure to send emissaries to all neighbouring kingdoms to inform them of this arrangement so that they too may appreciate your kindness.”

“That’s not quite-”

“After all, the lords and ladies of the realm will want to know where to send their letters of condolence, and if the princes are with  _ you _ rather than in the Northlands there might be some ...confusion.”

“You are too kind,” Freeza growled through gritted teeth. His hand tightened on Vegeta’s shoulder.

“Now then, it does rather seem like our tea party is at an end. You have plenty to do now, I’m sure.”

“Indeed,” Freeza said, glaring at the cat-man. “Come along boys.”

“Not so hasty, your majesty,” Korin interjected. “I must return their belongings to them yet, and I would like to facilitate the return of those robes they’re wearing, which I fear were purloined.”

The boys looked at their feet in shame.

“I thought as much,” he nodded sagely. “Come with me, let’s get you ready for your trip.”


	4. Chapter 4

Freeza was waiting for them in the great hall, his posture relaxed but his eyes hard and flinty. His attendants kept their distances, but he was flanked by General Zarbon and Mistress Berryblue, the former of whom exhibited only languid boredom. Berryblue, on the other hand, was laser focussed, watching the boys’ every step like a hungry crocodile. 

Korin had a hand on each of the boys’ shoulders, and gave them a little squeeze before gently pushing them forward. Vegeta gave a shallow bow, and Tarble did the same.

“Thank you, Grand Master,” Freeza inclined his head slightly to the cat, “We’ll take things from here.”

“We’re much obliged to your majesty.”

“I’ll of course have Berryblue send you a missive on their welfare and progress under my care,” the emperor sniffed, looking down the steps to where his palanquin was being prepared. “I’m sure she won’t mind.”

The woman chuckled.

“The sun is waning, it is time for us to leave,” Freeza announced with finality. “Thank you for your hospitality, and for reuniting me with my god-sons.”

“All are welcome here,” Korin replied vaguely. He noted that Freeza’s painted lip twitched.

“Berryblue, I require your counsel. You will travel with me,” Freeza ordered, “Zarbon, you have the care of these boys until we reach the ship.”

“But, your majesty-”

Freeza said nothing, but the icy glare he turned upon his subordinate was quite enough.

“Of course, your majesty. Forgive me, I misspoke.”

Again, Freeza communicated his contempt with silence, and turned from Zarbon. He bowed to Korin, who returned the gesture, and then turned retreated back down the great steps towards his coterie. Zarbon reluctantly held out a hand.

“Right, well then. Come with me, I suppose,” he said, trying to force jollity into his voice.

“This is it,” Korin advised quietly, “it’s going to be okay.”

“Please, Grand Master-” Tarble whispered, but was cut off by Vegeta grabbing him roughly by the wrist and marching him forward. He rejected Zarbon’s hand.

“A prince does not need his hand held,” he informed him bluntly. Zarbon chuckled and shrugged, allowing the diminutive royals to walk ahead of him.

The boys walked in silence, Tarble's attention fixed on the stairs in front of him, avoiding his brother's eyes. His effort was hardly necessary, Vegeta resolutely ignored him; he might as well not have existed. 

As they reached the bottom and moved on to the pilgrims’ path they were quickly surrounded on all sides by Freeza's retinue, so it was impossible to tell if Grand Master Korin was still stood at the temple entrance, but with every step they took away from their brief sanctum their dread grew. Korin's earlier, hasty address to them had done little to alleviate their anxiety.

_ "It's too late for that," Korin said sharply as Tarble began to blubber apologies. "All we can do now is get you prepared."  _

_ "Prepared for what?" Vegeta asked, ignoring Tarble.  _

_ "Honestly? I don't know," Korin admitted, leading the way through the temple to the offices in the back. "I'm not sure what his plan is, but I don't trust him for a moment." _

_ "I didn't - hic - mean to-"  _

_ "You believe he means us harm?"  _

_ "Can't tell," the cat admitted, "but he was most definitely displeased to find you both alive and well." _

_ "V-vegeta please, I'm s-sorry-"  _

_ "Do you think he was connected with the attack on my father?"  _

_ "Again, I can't say, but it seems very coincidental that he should arrive at this time."  _

_ "Vegeta! I didn't mean to-!"  _

_ Tarble grabbed his brother's sleeve, trying to force him to look at him. Vegeta's brittle patience snapped.  _

_ "Get off!" he roared, flinging Tarble from his arm and sending the boy crashing hard against the wall. "You should have stuck to the plan! You were supposed to listen! This is all your fault - I should have left you in the woods, like fath-"  _

_ He cut his words off sharply, hissing his breath and clenching his fists. Tarble slumped to the floor, head bowed, clutching himself protectively.  _

_ "I'm sorry," Tarble sobbed, "I'm sorry, please, please don't-"  _

_ "That's enough, both of you," Korin said, hauling Tarble to his feet. "What has happened has happened, it's pointless discussing whose fault it is that you didn't remain with your babysitter," he said, glancing pointedly at Vegeta who had enough self-awareness to blush and look away. "There's no time for recrimination. Freeza will be suspicious if we're too long and there're things I need to give you."  _

Vegeta ran his hand over the hard lump under his tunic, feeling the small dagger concealed there. His own sword hung from his hip. There was another dagger hidden up his sleeve.

_ "You may have your sword taken away from you," Korin explained, belting a dagger sheath to Tarble's thigh, "and if that's the case then these knives might be all you have with which to defend yourselves."  _

_ "Are we gonna be attacked?" Tarble asked in a hoarse whisper, his crying having finally subsided.  _

_ "It's just better to be prepared," Korin said uneasily.  _

Vegeta adjusted the straps of his backpack, evening them out. A slave had tried to carry it for him but he had rebuffed the offer sharply.

_ "This isn't much, just nuts, cheese, bread, but you might need it if you're forced to escape."  _

_ "You think it will come to that, Grand Master?"  _

_ "I hope not," the cat sniffed, rubbing his furry face, "I think he'll be reluctant to mistreat you, at least now that he knows everyone from here to the Western Seas will be made aware of his eagerness to take you on."  _

_ "Why is that?"  _

_ "His power on this continent is largely political. His military is mighty but the majority of it is overseas. His Empire is a relatively new arrival on our shores and his standing in the various courts matters to him. If it was known that he allowed the murder of two foreign princes in his care, children no less and one an heir, he would be branded a war criminal and he will have much more resistance to his continued quest for more power. No, he can't simply spirit you away and kill you, not now." _

_ "So what do you fear?"  _

_ "Whatever it is it will be unexpected, and made to look like an accident, so you have to be prepared at every moment for absolutely anything."  _

_ Vegeta swore, Tarble began to weep again.  _

_ "I'm not saying this to upset you," the monk frowned, putting a furry hand on each of their shoulders. "Remember, you will always have friends here, if you find yourselves at large again."  _

_ "Even though we disobeyed?" Vegeta asked, not making eye contact.  _

_ "Yes." _

_ Tarble fell forward and hugged the Grand Master sloppily.  _

_ "Ah, there, there," he soothed uncomfortably. He looked at Vegeta, who nodded back. The boy was good at hiding his emotions, but not as good as Korin was at reading them. _

There was some commotion up ahead, but Vegeta couldn't see past their escorts; voices were talking loudly and the caravan of soldiers was coming to a disorganised halt. He looked behind him at Zarbon, who was craning his fine neck to see. The tall warrior caught his eye. 

"Looks like a slave has gone down and a pole has snapped," he said to the boy, attempting to smile in a friendly manner. There was something coldly reptilian about that smile. "Lord Freeza's litter is down, and we won't be moving until that pole is replaced. We'll take a little break while they sort that out."

"What will happen to the slave?" Tarble asked quietly. 

"Oh come now, don't look so aghast," Zarbon laughed. "A good litter carrier takes a long time to train properly. As long as he can walk he will receive plenty of care when we reach the ship."

"Oh," Tarble replied, looking towards the head of the caravan. "Okay." 

"What did you think we'd do?" Zarbon asked playfully.

"Well, father always said…" 

"... Yes?" 

Tarble said nothing. 

"Father said that slaves are cattle," Vegeta finished sourly, "when they stop giving milk they no longer have any value beyond the weight of their flesh." 

"Your father sounds like a brutal man." 

Vegeta turned away from them both, fingering his sword idly. "He was." 

"Well your father clearly never put the effort in to training his cattle," Zarbon continued, resting on a nearby log. "The West Empire isn't nearly so irresponsible with its resources." 

Vegeta made no reply, but a furtive glance at Tarble confirmed the child was affected by this exchange; he growled inwardly in frustration at Tarble's softness. 

_ "Why can't we stay here?" Tarble whined.  _

_ "Freeza is technically correct when he says he's your legitimate guardian," Korin tried to explain, "and for me to try to keep you here could be seen as overtly political. The Dragon Monks must never take a side in any conflict, if we do then Freeza could use it as an excuse to break the covenant of peace and attack our order. We couldn't stand against him." _

_ "You don't know he'd do that." _

_ "My suspicion is enough, and I have a duty to protect this order."  _

_ "But you just said we could escape and return here?" Vegeta began to question. “Why not just allow us to remain?”  _

_ "Under those circumstances I could grant you sanctuary," Korin told him. "The other leaders of this continent would then be honour bound to assist us should Freeza choose to strike, but they would not aid us if we were seen to he taking a political stance."  _

_ "I don't understand why anyone would want to hurt us," Tarble moaned, wiping his face.  _

_ "It isn't your fault," Korin said. "I'm sorry boys, we can't wait any longer, it's time to go."  _

"How are we doing back here?" 

Vegeta ceased his brooding to glare at the newcomer. It was the odd little squat woman he'd seen sitting beside Freeza in the temple. She was still smiling that wide, calm smile. She put him in mind of a frog. 

"Not too badly, Mistress Berryblue," Zarbon replied cordially. "We've just been getting to know each other, haven't we boys?" 

Tarble smiled wanly, but Vegeta only continued to glare. 

"Well as you've probably ascertained His Majesty's palanquin has taken a little tumble and we're grounded for the moment," she informed them. "Would you boys care for some refreshment in the meantime?" 

Tarble's eyes lit up, Vegeta however was reticent. She clocked his sharp glare and continued to smile as she ordered a slave to fetch the princes something to eat.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” she continued, addressing both boys. “My name is Berryblue, I’m an advisor to his Grace. How do you do?”

“I’m Tarble,” he sniffled, bowing. “Oh,  _ Prince _ Tarble, sorry. I’m, uh, I’m ...Vegeta’s brother. How do you do?”

Berryblue took the boy’s hand and shook it genially. She then turned to Vegeta.

“Do you have anything to add, your highness?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m sure you’re well versed in royal protocols.”

Vegeta growled.

“Tarble, you’re the youngest, you should wait for me to answer a joint address before you speak,” he snarled, his eyes locked on the woman.

“Oh, sorry…”

“I am Prince Vegeta, heir to the Saiyan throne,” he practically spat, inclining his head as slightly as he could get away with. “How do you do?”

“Prince Vegeta, it is lovely to finally be introduced, even if the circumstances have been a little messy,” she laughed, holding out her hand. He touched it perfunctorily; it was very cold.

“I see you’re already drilling royal manners into these boys,” Zarbon smirked drily, “but though they may chafe they should know they’re in good hands.”

The boys looked at him, the eldest with undisguised suspicion.

“This unassuming lady here raised Freeza from his infancy,” he continued, his cold smile matching hers in smugness. “You’re going to have possibly the world’s most accomplished governess.”

“That’s enough cheek out of you,” she snapped playfully, although her eyes were hard. “I am a royal advisor, not a babysitter.”

“Yes, well that ‘honour’ seems to have fallen onto my shoulders, hasn’t it?” Zarbon joked, but again, there was an edge to it.

“I will take this opportunity to go for a walk,” Vegeta cut in, sick of their politics, raising his hand when they began to object, “relax, I’ll stay in sight of the caravan. I’m bored standing still.”

“At least take some fruit to nibble while you walk,” Berryblue advised, handing him an apple from a tray that had just arrived. He nodded, took it with the minimum of manners his upbringing required of him and stalked off towards the back of the caravan.

\-------------------------------------------

“Your brother seems a little out of sorts,” Berryblue remarked to Tarble. The pair had sat down to a light lunch of bread, fruit and water while the caravan was still being held up. “Is he always like that?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Tarble said, swallowing his mouthful. “I guess he’s still upset.”

“Of course,” Berryblue said sympathetically. “I understand. This is a very trying time for you both.”

“Yeah, s’pose…” he mumbled.

“It’s alright, kiddo,” she assured him, handing him more exotic fruits. “We’re your friends. I know it all seems scary right now but his lordship only wants to help you. That’s what I want too.”

“You want to help us?” he asked artlessly. She smiled widely.

“Of course, why else would we be taking you all the way back to Cold City with us?”

“I ...I don’t know.”

“We’re going to take care of you,” she promised, “at least for a little while.”

“I don’t know if I want to go to Cold City. It sounds really far away.”

“It is, but aren’t you tired of being up this chilly mountain?”

“It’s not much colder than home in the Northlands,” he shrugged, “and besides, there was so much I wanted to see here before I left.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“I wanted to see the other temples, I wanted to see the Turtle Master again, I wanted to see…” he trailed off.

“What did you want to see, Tarble?” she pressed.

“Vegeta thinks it’s stupid.”

“Vegeta isn’t here, is he?” she smiled, putting her cold hand on top of his. “You can trust me.”

“I ...wanted to see a great ape.”

“The Paozu Mountain gorilla?” she clarified.

“Yeah.”

“Well, and why wouldn’t you!” she declared. “The mountain gorilla is one of the greatest, most glorious beasts on this continent, a noble creature worthy of admiration!”

“You think so?”

“Oh yes, and these mountains are chock full of them. Did you know they’re very friendly animals?”

“Are they?”

“Indeed.”

“Vegeta said they’d hurt me, he said they’d eat my face.”

“He just wants you to be as miserable as he is,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Don’t hold it against him, he can’t help it.”

“So you really think they’re friendly?”

“Oh yes, tameable even. I bet if you met one you could have it following you straight away. I expect Lord Freeza would even let you keep it as a pet!”

Tarble had gotten to his feet in excitement, but just as quickly sat back down again.

“What’s wrong?”

“I got excited, I thought I could go find one, but…” he sighed, “we won’t have time.”

“Tarble, do you want to know a secret?”

He looked up at her, his wide innocent eyes meeting her cold lilac ones.

“I can sense the spirits of living beings,” she whispered, “and I can tell you that right now, just a few hundred feet away from our impromptu little camp, is a great ape going about his business, in that direction.”

She pointed off into the trees, her stubby finger arresting the entirety of Tarble’s attention.

“We’re going to be a little while longer while his Grace’s litter is repaired. Go on, I won’t tell anybody if you just go have a little look.”

“Really?” Tarble asked, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Of course! Just promise to come right back after you’ve made friends with him, alright?”

“Yes! Absolutely!” he jumped up and hurried off the path into the treeline, a few soldiers turning their heads as he did so but none following.

“Where is he going?” Zarbon demanded a little snippily of her, returning from a brief patrol.

“He’s on a special mission, courtesy of Lord Freeza,” she replied vaguely, sitting back with satisfaction.

\----------------------------------

Vegeta retied the laces on his hose. He’d pushed into the forest a few metres in order to relieve himself, but it had done little to improve his mood. The further they got from the temple the more Vegeta’s feelings began to complicate themselves; if Tarble had stuck to the plan they wouldn’t have been caught, but Tarble would never have been there in the first place if Vegeta had followed Korin’s instructions, and he was too smart not to see the truth of that. He started to walk back towards the caravan, swiping spitefully at the tree branches on his way.

“Oh, prince Vegeta, there you are!” Berryblue accosted him the moment he was within sight. She was highly discomposed, a far cry from the cool calmness he had associated with her. “Thank goodness you’re back!”

“Why? What’s going on?!” he demanded, glancing around for Tarble. The soldiers were all moving around, being barked at by Zarbon as they scurried around the makeshift camp.

“It’s your brother! We think he’s run off into the forest!”

“The forest? Why?!”

“I don’t know,” she quailed, tears standing in her eyes, “one minute we were talking about the forest and wildlife, and the next - I’d only left him for a minute - he was just gone! We’ve sent soldiers to look for him, but we don’t know him like  _ you _ do!”

“Where was he seen last?”

“Some soldiers think they saw him go into the forest, but oh it’s full of such wild and dangerous beasts! I’m beside myself with worry!”

“Which way?!”

She pointed off into the trees and Vegeta leapt away without question. She watched him go, and a calmness descended over her previously distressed features as he disappeared from sight.

“Alright Zarbon,” she instructed, rocking on her heels, “you may call your men to order.”

“My thanks,” he replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Shouldn’t we follow the boy?”

“Not just yet, all in good time.”

“You could always just tell me what your plan is,” he grumbled.

The inscrutable little lady made him no answer, but continued to smile.

\-------------------------------------------------

Tarble pushed through the forest. He was just small enough to duck under most branches but not so little that he was swamped by the undergrowth, and he made swift, relatively quiet progress. He never questioned the direction his feet were taking him. It was like his body knew exactly where to go, like he was being led through the woods by a guardian angel, and he trusted it with all of his juvenile naivety.

The late afternoon sun struggled to penetrate the thick canopy of trees, but Tarble didn’t mind the low light; his eyes were young and sharp, and constantly on the look-out for the great ape. His anticipation was such that several times he was fooled by the shadow of some foliage or a hanging vine into thinking he’d found his quarry, but at none of these junctures did he feel even an ounce of fear. On the contrary, he shook with excitement.

He stopped sharply, his Saiyan senses alerting him to new data; an unfamiliar smell, distant noises, a subtle sense of ...something. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end. For the first time on this venture he began to have misgivings.

_ Go on, _ a voice whispered in his soul.  _ You’ve come this far, you wouldn’t turn back without at least seeing an ape, would you? _

He stepped forward, just a pace, and he could now make out a soft grunting up ahead, and a slowly moving shadow beyond the leafy branches that looked a lot more solid than those that had fooled him before. He took another step.

_ That’s it, just one look, then you can go back. _

There was a wall of thick foliage, interspersed with vines and other plants, just ahead of him. All he had to do was reach out and make a gap, and he knew he would finally lay his eyes on a Paozu Mountain gorilla. Tarble held his breath and stretched out his little hand.

He parted the leaves, and gasped.

It was a clearing, better lit than the rest of the forest, with evidence of the temporary living arrangements that he’d read gorillas would employ. There was half eaten food, sticks and other crude tools, and even some vacated nests. He could just see one ape as it hurriedly disappeared into the canopy, an infant clutched to its back. All this he absorbed in about four seconds, which was all the time he had before he was forced to bring his entire attention to the very large, very focused male gorilla who hulked in the centre of the clearing. His dark, angry eyes were fixed on Tarble, his teeth bared.

Tarble stared at the teeth, noting their length, their sharpness, and their prominent display. A word floated to the forefront of his mind, a word he had read in one of his many books. He whispered it to himself in abstracted horror.

“...Territorial.”

Tarble turned and fled.

\-------------------------------------------------

Vegeta slashed at the branches with his sword, ducking and weaving and following the trail Tarble had left him as best as he could in what light the forest permitted. He cursed, his teeth grit in fury. Now he understood why father had so often raised his hand to his children; if he felt even one tenth of the frustration that Vegeta now felt then he suspected they’d gotten off lightly.

The trail went on long enough that he’d lost the sound of the camp. Why was no one following? If they wanted to find Tarble so badly they ought to have been right behind him. It seemed ludicrous to Vegeta that their captors would simply let him wander off into the woods without supervision. Something didn’t smell right to him.

A noise erupted from the trees ahead, crashing, scrambling and a garbled high pitched scream. Vegeta gripped his sword and dashed headlong towards the sounds. It wasn’t warm but panicked sweat still beaded his brow. He ducked branches and weaved lithely through the undergrowth, using his magic when his movement was impeded. His breathing was rapid, his heart pounding with terror. He heard the scream again; it was undoubtedly his brother.

He saw movement in the dappled light several metres ahead, and he thought he could make out the colours of Tarble’s tunic flashing through the trees as he sped towards him.

“Vegeta!” he screamed, and his moment of relief was shattered when Tarble followed his cry with: “ _ Run! _ ”

A roar further back in the forest drew his attention, and he stopped sharply as he saw that his brother was being pursued. A huge, dark figure was forcing its way through the trees, ripping boughs clean away with its powerful forearms as it chased down the fleeing Saiyan boy.

A great ape.

Despite its monstrous size it was moving through the forest with practiced speed through sheer brute force, and Tarble wasn’t fast enough. If he ran it would mean leaving the boy behind. Fighting all of his instincts, Vegeta sprinted towards his brother.

“Vegeta!” Tarble panted, grabbing at his brother’s robes instinctively. “We - run - have to-!”

He thrust the smaller boy behind him and faced the charging beast. He planted his feet squarely on the forest floor, and with his sword held at his side he raised his free hand.

“No, Vegeta, it’s too big-!”

The gorilla burst through the trees, mere feet away from him. It was unfazed by the appearance of yet another little humanoid, instead growing further enraged. It raised a huge paw.

The gorilla was not quite sure what happened next, but it felt its arm, instead of coming down hard and crushing the child’s skull, fly backwards, along with the rest of its body. It stumbled backwards, having been hit with a wall of force magic that left it both winded and disoriented. It was still regaining its footing when it experienced a white hot pain in its torso; it looked down to see the shiny stick the creature held was partially embedded in its side.

“Vegeta!”

“Tarble, just run! I’ll hold it off!” Vegeta screamed, withdrawing his sword and raising it for another attack.

The gorilla lashed out, enraged and in pain, and smacked Vegeta’s sword hand with a vigorous swipe. His weapon tumbled into the leaf litter of the forest floor. Vegeta tried to reach for it but the gorilla outflanked him, forcing him to duck backwards out of reach to avoid being bitten. Tarble was screaming unintelligible. It swiped at him again, trying to grab him, but Vegeta dodged, reaching into his sleeve for one of Korin’s knives.

It felt pitifully small, its weight barely registering. Vegeta tightened his grip on the tiny weapon, gritting his teeth as he fought off blind panic. The gorilla lunged at him again.

Vegeta blasted it, the air around him rippling as he put his full strength into the force attack. The gorilla was better prepared this time, and Vegeta’s reserves were lower; he was only able to put a little distance between them before it was recovered and pursuing him as he desperately tried to draw it away from Tarble.

He lurched, his foot catching on an exposed root, and he stumbled sideways and hit his head against a tree trunk. Lights flashed before his eyes, blinding him to the huge paw that immediately took advantage. It had him, he could feel its hairy knuckles gripping his tunic, pulling sharply, and he stabbed at it instinctively.

The gorilla roared, releasing him but smacking him fully in the mouth with its other hand. The boy was sent flying, hitting another tree and crumpling to the floor. He could see in the diminishing light the beast backing away, clutching its wrist. If anything it only looked angrier. He knew he only had seconds before it got control of itself and attacked him again. He was off balance, winded, his body hurt and his mouth was bleeding profusely, but he had to get up. He had to fight.

There was a loud  _ crack! _ and Vegeta stared in horror at Tarble, who had appeared behind the great ape with a tree branch far too big for him, and broken it across the beast’s back.

“Leave him  _ alone! _ ” the boy screamed, brandishing his broken bough like a club.

“Tarble!” Vegeta clambered to his feet. “Tarble, run! Run, you idiot!”

It was turning, glaring at the new assailant with enraged eyes. One hand it held low and close, the other lashed out towards Tarble.

Vegeta didn’t even think. In a flash he closed the distance between them and leapt onto the creature’s back, clinging to its fur and plunging his knife into its flesh to give himself purchase. The gorilla bellowed in agony, trying to snatch at the boy on its back and abandoning Tarble.

“Vegeta!” Tarble shrieked in terror as the creature lumbered around the clearing it had made with its bulk, trying to grab Vegeta who continued to stab and slice with his little knife. They turned and spun in a grotesque dance, their blood mingling as they wrestled for their lives. The gorilla hollered in frustration and, to Tarble’s complete horror, slammed its whole body backwards into a thick tree.

“No!” the boy clamoured, desperately unsheathing his own dagger.

The ape was suddenly thrown forward, and Vegeta, hurt but still breathing, fell to his knees, gasping. Tarble looked once at the ape, which was writhing on the floor with Vegeta’s knife still in its back, trying to raise itself up with just one hand, and to his brother, clearly spent and struggling to stand. He bounded across the clearing.

“Here!” he thrust his own dagger into Vegeta’s hand, and put his palms on his brother’s face. The older boy tried to push him away but he didn’t have the strength. Tarble summoned his own magic, and commanded his soul to pour his life into Vegeta.

Vegeta stood, shakily at first, but then taller, straighter and stronger. His bleeding slowed then stopped. He gripped the dagger firmly.

“You can do it,” Tarble gasped weakly, falling to his knees.

“Hide,” Vegeta ordered, and for once Tarble complied, shambling behind the nearest tree as Vegeta crouched low, dagger outstretched.

The ape was rising, grunting painfully as it did so, looking blearily around the clearing for the intruders. It was dazed, and badly injured, and very, very angry. It finally spied Vegeta, and stampeded towards him.

Vegeta did the same, running at full speed towards the furious animal, dodging at the last moment to the side of its injured arm and narrowly missing its clutching fingers, while setting off a smaller blast of disorienting energy. He slid on the wet leaves and grabbed at its fur, but it was wise to him this time and smacked out with its injured arm. Vegeta grabbed it, holding on for dear life, his grip putting pressure on the stab wound. It roared and threw him across the clearing, then chased him down on all fours as he tried to right himself. 

He was too slow, it was on him, its breath was rank in his face as it thrust its toothy maw towards his neck. He lashed out in a final, desperate bid for survival.

There was a long, gurgling moan, and a muffled crash, and the clearing became eerily silent. Tarble peered out from his hiding place, his dirty tear streaked face a pitiful sight. He could see the beast, a huge lump of bloodied fur unmoving in the near distance, but his brother was nowhere to be seen.

“Vegeta?” he quailed anxiously. The ape didn’t move, and Tarble crawled cautiously out from his hiding place. “Brother? What happened?”

The beast was huge, it had to weigh at least as much as a pony. Tarble suddenly put the clues together and scrambled over to what he now realised was the ape’s corpse. He darted to the opposite side where, as he had surmised, Vegeta lay partially crushed. His brother’s hand and wrist were fully inside the beasts mouth, blood raining down his arm onto his face and body. But he was breathing.

“Vegeta-!” Tarble choked, grabbing his brother in shock and relief. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” he croaked. “Is it dead?”

“You can’t tell?”

“What?”

“You can’t feel it?”

“What are you - never mind, help me,” he gestured to his arm, locked between the beast’s jaws. “Open its mouth so I can get my arm out.”

“Did it bite you?” Tarble asked, prying the jaws open with his little fingers so that Vegeta could extricate his limb.

“Yes, but nothing feels broken,” he grunted, clutching the bitten arm to his chest.

“Where’s my dagger?”

Vegeta nodded towards the creature’s still open mouth, and Tarble glimpsed inside to see the dagger wedged firmly into the back of its throat.

“Shit…”

“Don’t swear,” Vegeta said automatically, his voice weak with pain. “Help me get my other arm out.”

The ape was lying across Vegeta’s side, pinning his arm beneath it. He lifted as much as he could, huffing with the exertion as Vegeta wriggled his arm free. It was difficult, but they managed it.

“What - next?” Tarble panted.

“Legs,” Vegeta said, frowning. “But we might need help.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“Well can you lift this?”

“No, but…”

“Tarble, go back to the camp, get some soldiers and-”

“What the ever living fuck?!”

A new voice sliced through their intimacy, a familiar voice, and Vegeta could see the shiny plate boots of General Zarbon appear behind Tarble. Vegeta’s lips twisted into a threatening snarl.

“Did you do this?” Zarbon demanded of them, gesturing to the very dead mountain gorilla.

“We had to,” Tarble quavered, shrinking away from Zarbon but still staying near his brother. “It was going to kill us.”

“That’s a full grown Paozu Mountain gorilla, it should have ripped you to shreds,” Zarbon exclaimed, totally nonplussed. “How?! How did two little boys-”

“Zarbon! Hush!” another voice; Berryblue. She had dropped the sickly sweet tone she had used to address them previously, and her voice was hard like ice.

“Aren’t you gonna help him?” Tarble wailed.

“I …” Zarbon looked to Berryblue, clearly lost. “Well, am I?”

“Not just yet,” the little woman replied, pushing Zarbon out of the way. “You, I felt you. You’re what they call on this continent Dragon-touched, aren’t you?”

Tarble nodded.

“Both of you, yes?”

He nodded again; Vegeta was doing all he could not to wheeze under the weight of the gorilla.

She shuffled over and knelt down beside Vegeta, putting both of her hands to his face. She closed her eyes and Vegeta felt a feeling similar to what Tarble had done for him, only many times stronger. His limbs felt like they were inflating, filling up with golden light. His pain was gone, his arm no longer bleeding. He could feel energy crackling at his fingertips.

“What about the plan…?” Zarbon asked through gritted teeth, and the boys noticed that he still had his sword in hand despite the danger being clearly passed.

“Plan’s changed,” she snapped, before turning her head back to Vegeta and whispering low so that only he could hear her, “Now boy, show me your power.”

Vegeta raised his hands without a second thought and, pooling all of his strength between them, blasted the corpse of the mountain gorilla clean away, turning it fully over and freeing himself. He drew his legs up and stood shakily, looking briefly over his fallen adversary before reaching his hand down to his dirty, frightened brother.

“My, my,” she murmured. “It turns out old King Vegeta could keep a secret after all.”

“What are you going to do with us?” Vegeta asked her boldly, fingering his last hidden knife.

“You two? Well the first thing we’re going to do is get you to Freeza’s ship,” she said firmly, standing up herself. “After that I think a bath is most likely.”

Zarbon sheathed his sword, his frown unreadable.

“Freeza will want to know what you two have done,” she said archly.

“I’m sorry we killed it,” Tarble wailed, “we didn’t want to! It’s my fault, I made it angry-”

“Boys, boys,” he soothed, “you aren’t in any kind of trouble. Far from it. An adult male gorilla of this size ought to have killed you easily. The fact that you survived, more than survived, is beyond impressive. Talent like yours is not to be dismissed so casually.”

“Wait, but you said great apes are friendly-”

“I must have been thinking of some other beast,” she lied smoothly. 

Vegeta glared at her, unfooled, but was distracted by Tarble falling to his knees. He ducked down to support his brother.

“Zarbon,” Berryblue ordered, “carry the poor boy. He’s exhausted.”

“I have no idea what the hell is happening anymore,” Zarbon declared bluntly, but lifted Tarble gently in his arms all the same. Vegeta was reluctant to let him go, but something in Berryblue’s gaze convinced him that - for now at least - they were not in danger.

“Take the boys back to camp,” she instructed Zarbon, who by now seemed resigned to his role. “I need to speak to his majesty.”

“Wait,” Vegeta halted them, casting about the ground for his sword. He located it with a sigh of relief. “Okay, we can go.”

Zarbon glared at the boy, but said nothing. With one last lingering look at the dead gorilla, they left the clearing and headed back to camp.


	5. Chapter 5

Vegeta was running. The forest around him was thick and dark and full of alien sounds. He knew, without knowing how he knew, that he was alone. There were no other people for miles, or possibly even in existence, no living creatures anywhere in this world except for the one pursuing him.

His little legs pushed through the undergrowth, but his feet kept getting heavier and heavier, his arms were dead weights slowing him down, and he was even struggling to keep his eyes open - not from fatigue, but from some strange compulsion to simply shut them. His breath was as ragged as his pace was pitiful and he could hear the creature gaining on him. It was grunting and howling, smashing through the trees and ferns as it pounded through the forest, entirely focussed on him alone. He fought back terrified tears.

Vegeta’s feet felt softness, then depth, and then resistance. He’d run into some sort of thick swamp, and he couldn’t move his legs at all. He wanted to lie down, he wanted it to stop, but the horror ruled him and he could do nothing to prevent it from choking him. He turned as best he could to stare dumbfounded at his approaching death; the massive, hulking primate visible in the distance through a corridor in the forest that had not been there moments previously, its skin hanging from its body, chunks missing from which pus and blood oozed, a knife sticking out of its back. Its huge, yellow teeth and bloodshot eyes were increasingly visible as it closed the distance. 

Vegeta struggled against the swamp, but he was now chest deep in it, and his arms were being sucked down. The monster was nearly upon him, and he closed his eyes in cowardice as it leapt from the bank, its rotting paws outstretched to pull his head into its reeking mouth. He screamed.

Vegeta jerked awake, his entire body spasming, arms flailing as he fought off his imaginary assailant. He yelled out, his voice so much deeper now than the childish lilt of his nightmare. His limbs were longer, stronger, and not weighted down by the physics of night-terrors, nor constricted by an imaginary swamp, and his rational mind took stock of these things as he reasserted control over himself. He sat up, panting in the dark.

It had been twenty years since his encounter with that stinking ape, and still it haunted his nighttimes. He growled and rubbed his face, swinging his legs out of the camp bed. His companion from the night before had already vacated his tent, to Vegeta's relief; he didn't need some gobby lieutenant telling her friends that the Prince suffered from nightmares. 

He switched on the lamp, its magically powered orb casting a gentle glow over his temporary domicile. His quarters were necessarily modest, though a damned sight larger and more comfortable than what the rank and file soldier had to put up with; there were few luxuries when on campaign, but at least the royalty were able to maintain a degree of civility. He had the basics of furniture, a bamboo floor, even a hardy rug and a few decorations. He also had something he considered essential, a wash basin and a fresh water jug, refilled regularly by conscientious slaves. 

He washed his face, glaring at himself in the mirror. He hadn't had the Great Ape dream in months, and had begun to think he was finally free of it. Apparently not. He lifted his tent flap slightly, and saw the sun was already peering over the horizon. There was no point returning to bed. He glanced over to his dressing table and saw, with a grimace, that there was a very expensive and very empty bottle of liquor. He was fairly sure, from his clarity of mind and soundness of stomach that he hadn't finished that. He dressed himself, grabbed the bottle and headed out. 

"Good morning," he greeted the privates guarding the entrance to his tent. They saluted smartly, startled though they were. "Anything to report?" 

"Nothing, your highness," responded the senior of the two. 

"How long ago did my guest leave?" 

"About two hours, your highness," he answered. "She seemed very merry, sir." 

"Well that's hardly surprising," the Prince sniffed, handing them the empty bottle. "The cheeky sod finished this by herself." 

They glanced at the label, and the younger one had to hide his amused grin. 

"Dispose of that will you? Then go rest." 

"But your highness, our shift isn't-" 

"Did I stutter? I don't need a security detail around the clock, follow your damned orders." 

"Yes sir, thank you sir," the young men stammered, bowing respectfully. Vegeta watched them retreat with disdain. 

The camp was very quiet, hardly surprising given the early hour. The soldiers had spent the best part of the previous afternoon and evening in high celebration of their recent conquest; the savage people of this land were finally routed and their 'civilisation' brought under Freeza's rule. This one had been tricky and they'd lost more troops than Vegeta would have liked in simply navigating the natives mountain passes, discovering too late the hiding places of the defending armies. The Emperor wouldn't care about that, though. To Freeza lives were cheap and there would always be more soldiers; he got what he wanted, which were the rich mineral resources this mountain civilisation had been hoarding. Vegeta shook his head; they were too primitive a culture to harness the resources they'd died defending, they ought to have taken Tarble's surrender deal, but it was so often the way with these tribal types that their national pride took precedence over their self-preservation. As a Saiyan he could respect that, but as a learned man and a son of the Cold Dynasty he was also all too conscious of the waste of it all. He strolled through the camp in contemplation, nodding at the occasional patrol he passed. The soldiers were in various states of disheveled, but all managed a valiant pretence of sobriety. 

"Dragon help us if the enemy had managed to regroup," he muttered to himself, seeing the desperately hungover troops beginning to rise with the sun. "If they'd counter attacked in the night we'd be done for." 

"Have you so little faith in the reserve guard?" a deep voice asked from behind him.

Vegeta turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder at his new companion.

“You’re up early, Ginyu,” he nodded to the tall, helmeted man. Even at this hour he was in full armour, gleaming with a mirror polish in the early morning rays. Never had Vegeta met a more fastidious officer than Captain Ginyu.

“This is the best time of the day, your highness,” the Captain replied, falling in line beside Vegeta as they both continued to walk. “I’m always up at first light.”

“You can’t have had a lot of sleep,” Vegeta noted, standing a little straighter, “weren’t you up all night with the reserves?”

“We slept in shifts,” he confirmed, “I got enough. Although there may be some truth to your concerns, as I’m reasonably convinced that a good chunk of my soldiers defected to join the celebrations.”

“Is that so?” Vegeta smirked.

“Yes, and the Gods help them when I catch up with them.”

“Perhaps we were in error to let our forces know the extent of our victory; on the next leg of the campaign we’ll need to keep our hands closer to our chests.”

“Ah yes, well that’s the thing,” Ginyu started, and catching the Prince’s penetrating glare he continued hastily, “you may not be with us for that.”

“What?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to rise, I have a message from your father,” Ginyu fished in his breastplate for a neatly folded envelope, still sealed. “I have instructions to prepare your return journey immediately, which I have already fulfilled. You will be, with any luck, on your way back to the palace within the hour.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Vegeta growled and snatched the letter from Ginyu, the taller man flinching as he did so.

“I know you’ve put a lot of effort into this campaign-”

“This is ridiculous!” he continued to spit. “How can he withdraw me right now? This is the most crucial point of my plans!”

“I’m sure his Majesty has every faith in his forces to execute your will.”

“No, that’s not good enough,” he retorted, snapping open the seal and unfolding his letter, “I need to be here. What if something goes wrong?”

“Lord Freeza’s generals have been fighting his wars since before you could hold a sword, your highness,” Ginyu reassured him, holding on to his patience with practiced effort. “I’m sure they can continue to keep pace with your ambitions.”

“They don’t know my ambitions,” Vegeta muttered, then fell silent as he read his letter.

“I hope your father is well?” Ginyu asked after an awkward number of seconds had passed.

“My ‘father’ is probably in perfect health, as bloody always,” he said, folding the letter and putting it in his shirt pocket. “As for his mind, who ever knows? Why would he call me back?”

“I had hoped the letter would answer that.”

“No, just half a page of wittering when a simple ‘Come home, I want to talk to you’ would have done.”

“You shouldn’t speak of your father that way.”

“Ginyu, just call him the Emperor, would you?”

“As you wish, your Highness,” Ginyu obeyed, bowing his head slightly.

“You have a ship ready?”

“And waiting.”

“Fine, lead on.”

\------------------------------

It was a two day airship journey from the new borders of the West Empire to the capitol. Via land transit it was even longer, a journey of more than a week at least, but that knowledge didn’t alleviate Vegeta’s frustrated boredom while aboard.

The airships were marvels of mago-engineering, metal machinery blending seamlessly with the powerful magical energies that Freeza’s mages had learned to cultivate. Powered by huge, magically imbued crystals, the great hulking things steamed through the skies like a well turned out ship cuts through the ocean. They were bulbous, golden things, ornate and with tall sails that harnessed both the wind and the sun. There was no single thing more expensive in the entire Empire than one of Freeza’s airships.

Vegeta sighed, trying to relax in his quarters. He’d tried to contact Freeza, but the mages told him his communication had been refused. His Lordship was ‘too busy’, and besides, the reasons for his recall appeared to be of a sensitive nature. That only added anxiety to Vegeta’s anger.

There was a chime at his door.

“Enter!” he ordered, glaring at the far wall.

“Your Highness, I have your breakfast,” an airman entered, carrying a platter.

“We’re landing soon, surely that can wait?” he queried.

“Captain’s orders, your Highness. Apparently your father is adamant that you receive your proper-”

“Stop calling him my father!” Vegeta snapped, making the solder quaver. He nearly dropped the platter. “And hold your damned tongue. Your job is to do as you’re bid by your superiors, and I outrank your Captain, so you will take that blasted plate away and leave me be, understood?”

“But the Captain…” the young man swallowed hard. “O-of course, your highness. I apologise…”

“And tell your Captain not to bother me unless it’s regarding imminent disembarkation.”

“Understood, your highness,” the soldier bowed and backed out of the room, the door whooshing shut behind him. 

Vegeta snorted angrily.

His adoption by Emperor had been law for nearly fifteen years, he had signed the documents himself without much in the way of duress. In his Majesty’s presence he could use the moniker of ‘father’ with little effort, but hearing it so synthetically reinforced by lowly cretins who could as easily use any one of Freeza’s numerous titles irked him. It showed a lack of respect and pretension to familiarity that repulsed Vegeta.

He stalked around his quarters restlessly, eventually settling next to the tiny window where he had a reasonable view of the landscape below. He could see the outlines of well known towns and cities, the familiar silhouette of the distant mountains on the horizon, the great winding river that passed through it all. Cold City lay just ahead, the glittering jewel in Freeza’s crown, a monument to the power and brilliance of the civilised West. Its towers gleamed tall, the pink-tinged marble quarried from the nearby hills cladding almost every building of note and creating a vision of unity and cohesion that no city had ever matched. It was the marvel of the Western Continent; the rich and powerful from all over the world travelled thousands of miles just to see it.

His destination stood in the centre, the Palace of the Cold dynasty, the largest, tallest and most elaborately constructed building in the known world. The marble required to complete its construction had taken decades to pull from the ground, and it was said that a hundred thousand slaves had perished in its construction. This last fact did not impress Vegeta, though he didn’t doubt the truth of it. The country moved along beneath him as he waited for the airman to return.

\------------------------------

Sunlight washed over Vegeta as he stepped out onto the wide marble platform of Freeza’s private docking bay. Only the Royal family and the highest ranking of visiting nobles were permitted the use of this platform. Not even the crew, who were unloading Vegeta’s light travelling bag, were permitted to step foot on the platform, instead handing over their cargo to a servant before disappearing back into the bowels of their ship. He didn’t bother to watch it leave.

A woman appeared in his path, bowing deeply, her hands spread before her in the gesture of service that was common to Imperial slaves and servants. She wore the pale lavender robes of Freeza’s personal household, a high honour for any indentured servant. She was small, and very pretty, like most of them.

“Your highness, I am instructed to bring you to his Imperial Majesty,” she intoned in a low monotone. 

“You can just tell me where he is,” Vegeta replied, already missing the relative informality of his military camp, “I know my way around.”

“Your highness, I am instructed to-”

“Alright, fine,” he sighed, “lead on.”

This was the way with all of them, practical automatons, their training so thoroughly robbed them of any trace of personality that they barely seemed human. He wondered if there was still a soul in her body. She bowed again and turned, walking away with more precision and grace than the noblest of ladies. Vegeta sighed inwardly at the needless pretension of it all.

She led him through familiar corridors, the beautifully sculpted walls curving to the ceiling. The walls were lit by imbued crystals, suffusing the corridors with a soft pink glow, blending seamlessly with the yellow light that flowed in from the widely spaced, high-arched windows. They passed the occasional sculpture, hewn directly into the marble walls, usually of some great hero or legend of times passed. He’d seen it all before, he would see it all again.

Vegeta had guessed their destination before they arrived there; from the direction she’d taken him he’d surmised that they were headed for the North-East tea room, a small, sunny parlour favoured by Freeza in the warmer months for its bright and airy aspect. He had endured many a lecture in that room. He sighed inwardly as the well-known door appeared before them.

The woman came to a halt, turned, and bowed deeply again.

“Your highness,” she breathed, her hands held out towards the door, now being opened by a page. He strode past her into the room.

It was a very pretty room, with delicate hanging plants, tastefully expensive rugs and wall hangings, all in a pastel theme. The balcony with its huge arched windows either side of the panelled glass door allowed the glow of the late summer sun to bathe the room in warmth. In the far corner, around a good sized tea table and attended by alert servants, sat the Emperor Freeza. With him were a couple of advisors that Vegeta partially recognised, and his own brother Tarble.

Tarble had grown little from their boyhood days, at least in terms of stature. As much as Vegeta regretted his own lack of height, and certainly he was not tall by Saiyan standards, Tarble had it infinitely worse; the young man’s head barely reached to his elder brother’s waist. 

He suffered no deformity, every limb was proportionate to his height, but he was skinny, and he spent too much time indoors with his books resulting in an unhealthy paleness. His face was like his brother’s, but more pointed, the features more delicate and elfin where Vegeta’s were striking. Tarble was handsome, at least enough for a second son, but he was no Saiyan. Were it not for the eyes Vegeta might have doubted his parentage.

“Vegeta! You’ve finally made it,” Freeza declared, raising his china cup to his adopted son, who bowed perfunctorily. Freeza turned to his two advisors. “We can continue this conversation later, gentlemen.”

The two men rose, bowing to both the Emperor and his princes, and left quickly. The servants quietly removed the used tea cups.

“Your Majesty,” Vegeta greeted.

“So formal?” Freeza queried, turning to Tarble, “I suppose we should at least be glad that your brother is finally learning his manners.”

“Indeed, your majesty,” Tarble laughed. Some found it odd to hear a man’s voice issue from a frame so childlike. His little feet barely touched the floor.

“Oh not you as well!” Freeza pushed his chair back and stood, putting his cup down carefully. “You, serve the tea then leave us. I wish to speak to my sons in private.”

The addressed servant complied silently, then without a whisper all of the attendants left the room, leaving only Freeza and the young men. The Emperor looked appraisingly at Vegeta.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I sent for you?”

“Well actually yes,” Vegeta growled, “the campaign in Fukurou is at a pivotal point, and to ask me to leave my plans in the hands of Captain Ginyu without even telling me what-”

“Vegeta, Vegeta, please calm down,” Freeza asked, his tone sweet but with a cold edge. “Do you think I do these things to pass the time? I have very important news for you that simply cannot be sent in a missive.”

Vegeta said nothing, waiting impatiently.

“Tarble, defend your dear father, won’t you?”

“Brother, he speaks the truth,” Tarble said, smirking. “You’ll understand why you had to come home for this.”

“You’re both enjoying this, aren’t you?” Vegeta accused them.

“Oh, immensely.”

“Would you please get on with it?”

“Of course,” Freeza replied, then turning to Tarble, “be a love and open the patio doors, will you? I would like some air.”

Tarble complied, sliding open the panes and letting in the cool air; even in the Summer the Cold Palace was at best merely temperate.

“That’s better,” Freeza smiled complacently, wandering out onto the balcony. His Princes followed him. “Vegeta, how long has it been since you became my son?” he asked, after staring a few moments over the balcony to the sprawling, glittering city below.

“It will have been fifteen years this Winter.”

“Have you been happy with me?”

“My Lord?”

“Please,” Freeza ordered, still looking out at his vast settlement, “you know how I prefer to be addressed.”

“Father, must you play these games with me?” Vegeta sighed, already frustrated. “I don’t understand why you can’t just be direct.”

“Yes, you’re a military man, I know that,” Freeza said distractedly, his eyes now fixed on some point in his imagination that only he could see. “You always were very direct. That nearly got you into trouble when you were a whelp.”

“I recall.”

“Oh, you have no idea how many times I pulled you out of the fire, when you didn’t even know you’d done a thing wrong,” Freeza chuckled, “there were times when I began to think I’d taken on more than I’d bargained for with you two.”

The brothers looked at each other, eyebrows cocked.

“Not that I have any regrets. When you survived your little encounter back on that stinking mountain, I took it as a sign from the Gods that you boys were meant for higher things. And who better to mould and nurture such potential than I?”

He turned to them, smiling widely. He was dressed in his casual garb, a rich flowing robe, a simple hat, clothes that tried to appear plain when realistically they cost more than most families make in a year. His hands were held out before him.

“Has it been all that bad, having me for a father?”

“I ...no, I can’t claim that it has,” Vegeta replied carefully. “We were raised comfortably.”

“Comfortably, is that what you call it?” Tarble chuckled. “Have any other orphans ever fallen into such opulence as we have? We would never have lived such lives in Palace Vegeta.”

“Well said Tarble, as always,” Freeza approved, and Tarble nodded with a smile. “I have given you everything, and you have repaid me in kind. My most competent general, my most valued advisor, there is no father with two sons better suited to his needs.”

The young men were silent, unaccustomed to such unqualified praise.

“I must come to the point; Vegeta, my son, you have truly earned the prize I have obtained for you.”

“I think we’ve teased him long enough, father,” Tarble smiled, bowing his head slightly.

“Indeed,” the Emperor sighed, “Vegeta, allow me to congratulate you on your forthcoming betrothal.”

There was a moment of silence, but for the wind and the far distant sounds of bustling civilisation. Vegeta stared at his father in confusion.

“...I’m sorry?”

“For your manners, you ought to be,” Freeza sniffed. “I hope you don’t goggle open-mouthed like that when we’re received at the palace of your in-laws.”

“..What?”

“Vegeta, for all your razor sharp sense on the field of battle, you can be ever so dense when it comes to matters of court; I have finally arranged a marriage for you.”

“But ...I don’t ... _ why? _ ” Vegeta asked, raising his hands in disbelieving supplication.

“What do you  _ mean _ ‘why’? You’re twenty eight years old, a prince and yet unmarried? It is a great shame on me as a father that I have allowed you to roam the world this long as a single man.”

“But I don’t understand, when have you ever told me to find a wife?”

“Find a wife…?” Freeza laughed behind his hand, “oh, my dear, dear boy! No, as Emperor your betrothal has always been my duty to arrange, not yours. How could I conscience letting my son, a boy with only a fraction of my years and experience, attempt to make such a life-long and monumental decision? No, no it is my right and duty as a parent to ensure that the partner of your future life is befitting of your stature and requirements.”

“No, that’s not-” Vegeta spluttered, struggling to articulate his sudden, sharp feelings. Tarble’s semi-supportive, semi-pitying smile didn’t help. “I mean that we’ve never so much as talked about marriage. How am I only now discovering that it’s some important issue that I ought to have been cognisant of?”

“Do you think that I, the King of the Western Seas, Lord of the Skies, Jewel of the Cold Dynasty and the High Lord Emperor of the West, am obliged to divulge to you every little thought that passes through my exceptional mind?” Freeza asked derisively. “I know very well that your capacity for critical thought is limited, and your work expanding our Southern border has been imperative. I’d no intention of distracting you with such things until my own negotiations were solidified.”

“Negotiations with  _ whom? _ ”

“And now you’re asking sensible questions.”

“And you’re not answering them!” Vegeta growled through gritted teeth, his fists balled at his sides.

There was a moment of quiet tension as the two men met each other’s glares, instantly broken by Freeza’s high pitched laughter.

“Oh, you are too funny,” he chuckled, wiping a non-existent tear from his eye. “Alright, alright, I concede. Come sit, we’ll discuss the details and I promise you will see this all in a more favourable light.”

\------------------------------

Vegeta sipped his tea, his hands stiff with suppressed anger.

“A Princess, of the East Empire,” he said in a slow, deliberate manner.

“Not ‘a’ Princess, ‘the’ Princess,” Tarble explained, refilling Freeza’s cup without needing to be asked. “Princess Chi-Chi, the only child and heir of the Ox King, Emperor of the East.”

“A great beauty, I’m told,” Freeza added, lifting his cup. “And a  _ very _ accomplished fighter.”

Vegeta snorted.

“Perhaps in her fencing classes with her governess,” he disparaged. “I know fighting, and it’s hard, and dirty, and not some pampered Princess’ neat little tournament against toadies too afraid to so much as scratch her. I doubt she’s ever slept rough before a battle, or watched the life leave an opponent’s eyes as you shake them off your sword. She must be some kind of clueless to advertise herself as a ‘fighter’.”

“Please, tell us how you really feel,” Tarble quipped dryly. “She’s unbeaten in tournaments with her peers, and you must be able to appreciate that she isn’t exactly free to go off and fight wars on a whim.”

“She’s also one of her father’s military advisors, and has been since she showed an inclination for the mechanics of war as a young girl,” Freeza said into his cup, his brows arched.

“Oh great, so she plays chess?” Vegeta rejoined, sensing his Lordship’s displeasure but too riled up to respond constructively. He put his cup down slightly too hard. “Wonderful, a sword swinging, war-game playing little heiress. And as to her great beauty, what Princess is  _ not _ described by her sycophants as such? I can’t believe this!”

Freeza stood up sharply and took a turn around the room, breathing through his nose. Tarble watched the Emperor closely, before turning his sharp, penetrating glare on his brother.

“I don’t know why you’re getting so het-up about this,” he said, leaning back slightly. “You’ve never once shown an interest in choosing a wife for yourself, so what does it matter if one is chosen for you?”

“Would you be happy in my place?”

“Incredibly so. Our father has made a careful selection, weighing both your profit from the alliance and your potential for marital happiness. There is no potential bride of a higher status on the East continent than Princess Chi-Chi, and within that sphere of society no woman better suited to your particular …tastes.”

“What do you know of my tastes?” Vegeta spat.

“Enough to know that there are probably about a dozen half Saiyan bastards scattered throughout the Empire, born to sharp tongued women who are handy in a fight,” Tarble countered accusingly.

“You should watch your mouth, little brother,” Vegeta growled, and then in a lower tone, “and you should know I’m more careful than that.”

“Should I?”

“Yes, considering,” Vegeta retorted, his tone pointed. “You know the world isn’t kind to unwanted children.”

Tarble bristled, but said nothing. 

“I must say,” Freeza said finally, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “you’re really being a bit of a brat about this.”

“Don’t sugar coat it for me,” Vegeta rolled his eyes.

“I will sugar coat  _ you  _ and throw you to the dogs!”

“Sugar is really not good for dogs,” Tarble muttered, not looking at his brother.

“You can sit there and sulk as much as you please, but like it or not this marriage is happening,” Freeza declared. “I’ve gone to great lengths to ensure that I’ve matched you considerately, with a woman who by rights ought to merit your respect, if not your affection, and your churlish behaviour leads me to wonder if my efforts have been bestowed on the less deserving brother!”

“I didn’t ask you to find me a wife, sir,” Vegeta said stiffly. “I was perfectly content leading your wars.”

“Well I am  _ not  _ content with that. You are not a common soldier, you are  _ my son _ and as such you have a responsibility to this Empire and to me! I could have sent you back to that stinking wasteland that you came from, let you be assassinated, or rot away under the ambitionless care of an ambitionless race, but I chose to take you under my wing, to nurture you, to give you everything you have now. I made you what you are, and you thank me by sitting there, pouting like a literal child, and turning your nose up at the gifts I offer you?”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Vegeta admitted grudgingly, staring resolutely at his tea cup.

“Well you have! Honestly, the ingratitude!” Freeza threw up his hands. “In less than two years you’ll be old enough to ascend the Saiyan throne, but such an attitude as this makes me wonder if you’re mature enough yet.”

“Because I’m not happy about being engaged to a woman I haven’t met?” Vegeta queried, stung.

“You’re not engaged yet,” Tarble interjected, still not looking at his brother. “By the customs of their culture you can’t be engaged until you have met in person and made a public declaration.”

“Tarble is correct. We will be leaving a days hence, travelling to the East Empire, and there you will meet your wife,” Freeza informed him. “Once you’ve met she has every right to reject you, and given your current behaviour I wouldn’t blame her.”

Vegeta curled his lip.

“You can give me all the dirty looks you want boy, but woe betide you if she does,” Freeza growled low. “The embarrassment to this Empire should you fail to be accepted will be inordinate, and the consequences will fall squarely on your shoulders.”

“Father, you do me injustice,” Vegeta relented sheepishly, “I would no more intentionally embarrass our house than I would sabotage my own battles. This is ...just a lot to take in at once.”

Freeza glared a moment longer at him, before huffing and reaching over the table for his tea cup.

“I suppose I can see some sense in that,” he admitted grudgingly, taking a sip, “perhaps if you had been properly conditioned from a younger age this wouldn’t have been such a shock. But that doesn’t excuse your attitude.”

“Our father should take it as a sign of his good and kind parenting that my brother felt comfortable enough to express himself so freely in his presence,” Tarble pointed out, finally glancing at his brother, who had to fight to not roll his eyes.

“There is truth to that, too,” Freeza put his cup down. “With a silvered tongue like that perhaps I ought to send you in your brother’s place.”

“And fail to unite the Northlands with the East Empire under your banner, my father?”

“Wait ...when I ascend the Saiyan throne…” Vegeta murmured.

“I can hear the rusty cogs in your head turning,” Tarble scoffed. “Yes, this marriage is more important than your personal happiness. This is an alliance that will join the two largest nations on the East Continent, excepting our own settlements of course, and when the Ox King passes and your Queen takes her place you will rule the second largest civilisation in the world.”

“In your capacity as my son, of course,” Freeza added, replacing his cup.

“Wait, so this is all ...politics?”

“What else did you expect it to be?” Tarble asked, genuinely perplexed. “Do you think that Emperors arrange marriages for their sons for their own amusement?”

“And I suppose there’s no convincing you to try to talk father out of this?”

“Why would I do that,” Tarble asked, leaning forwards and resting his chin in his laced fingers, “when this has all been my idea?”

“What?”

“That’s quite enough from both of you,” Freeza sighed, sitting down heavily. “You’ve not had time to rest since you got back. Go to your rooms, the pair of you, and wash up for dinner. You can shower off that unpleasant attitude while you’re at it, Vegeta.”

“Yes, father,” they said automatically, standing in unison.

“And have Berryblue sent to me,” Freeza closed his eyes with apparent fatigue. “There is much to be discussed.”


	6. Chapter 6

If he were asked, and thus far in his life no-one had been brave enough to do so, Prince Vegeta would be forced to admit - reluctantly - that being raised in the capitol City of the West Empire more than had its charms. As a boy, first arriving in the wake of his familial tragedy, he was defensive and hostile, considering himself and his brother prisoners and his captors as uniformly untrustworthy. In those early months he was perpetually on the look-out for danger and it took a great deal of time and effort on the part of his new guardians to convince Vegeta that he had not been abducted.

It hadn't been a fruitful beginning, that couldn't be denied. The introduction at the Temple of the Lynx could hardly have been worse, and at such a time as well, it was inevitable that the boys would arrive with a certain level of animosity. But time moved on and every day passed without so much as a cross word, let alone an attempt on their lives, and slowly Vegeta came to believe that whatever his intent when he took them from the Temple, Freeza had truly decided to commit to raising them. That is, he committed his household to do it for him. 

At first they rarely saw Freeza. He would drop into the nursery every few days for a couple of minutes at a time, ask brief questions of their guardians, say a few words to the boys and then leave with his entourage. He got very little from the lads, who would stand stiffly, stare straight ahead and give him perfunctory yes or no answers. It was Tarble who first softened, his responses gaining more substance as he grew more comfortable in the Palace. His little mind, far more absorbent and inquisitive than Vegeta's had ever been, was nurtured for the first time in his life. They were given a first rate education that Tarble took to with an enthusiasm that rather annoyed Vegeta, who at that point was still resistant to accepting their new lives. But as the months passed and Tarble grew more loquacious, Freeza's visits seemed to last longer and longer, his conversation more informal and eventually he began to summon them to his presence. 

It began with the occasional evening meal, then the odd breakfast, and before long Freeza had them attend every informal meal. They were not presented to state dinners or events with visiting dignitaries, but most evenings the boys would find themselves seated around one of Freeza's exquisite dining tables, sometimes with Mistress Berryblue or General Zarbon or another highly favoured member of Freeza's inner circle, and being treated with complacent good humour. They were still careful, of course, never speaking out of turn or forgetting their manners, but their defences slowly wore down, and by the time they had passed a full year under Freeza's care even Vegeta had concluded that whatever danger there had been, it had been left on that mountain.

Somehow, and somewhat against Vegeta's will, a sort of intimacy grew between the Emperor and his wards. His Lordship encouraged them to think of him as family, as a sort of uncle. Tarble accepted this at face value, though Vegeta remained suspicious, always conscious of the insincerity of Freeza’s niceties. The Painted Emperor made an acceptable show of geniality, even at times being entertaining to his wards, but there was always a coldness, a look here, a sneer there, small things of which Vegeta was all too aware. That said, the performative aspect of the relationship seemed to amuse the Emperor greatly who, rather that becoming fatigued from the effort of charming the boys, seemed to find peculiar delight in it, treating it like a game. 

Beyond their interactions with him, Freeza gave them everything they could ask for, enriching Tarble's mind with as many books as he could devour, and honing Vegeta's fighting skills under an accomplished sword master, but what eventually brought Vegeta around to life in the West was the magisters. 

For the first time he was being taught how to use his magic, being praised for it, being hailed as a prodigy. His tutors were amazed by his raw skills, and florid with their compliments, and Vegeta found his head being turned. Back home his skills were acknowledged but never fully appreciated, magic being very rare and not well understood among Saiyans, and he had always felt stifled under the tutelage of masters who saw his abilities as mere tricks. Only his mother had really understood, but as a male and heir he couldn’t even fit into her niche and call himself a witch. As time wore on and his magical studies grew more intense the memory of his mother - which always elicited at least a lump in his throat - surfaced less and less often, until eventually her face rarely rose in his mind’s eye more than a few times a day, then once or twice, then every few days. Soon he began to think of his native lands as ‘home’ in only an abstract sense, a wild land belonging to a brutish people who did not and could not understand him, a race who he would greatly improve when he returned, equipped with new skills and education that his brethren lacked. And he would return, Freeza had promised him that.

They had been living with Freeza for a handful of years when the Emperor had made them his offer: adoption. It had been a fine speech, full of manufactured affection and offers to treat them as his own sons. In reality, as Vegeta learned later to no surprise whatsoever, it happened to be advantageous to Freeza that he should have heirs, and as none of his pursuits in that arena had borne fruit he saw the orphaned Princes as the obvious choice. It didn’t matter to Vegeta either way; the connection was mutually advantageous, and lacking any other counsel or support he agreed to it. He signed his name next to Tarble’s and they became the sons of the man whom, barely four years previously they had both feared beyond all reason. His only struggle had been in banishing the thought of his own, true father, and what he might have thought of it.

From there their lives had been charmed, Tarble learning the ways of court, and Vegeta the laws of battle. Tarble largely stayed at home, though on occasion, such as the last campaign they’d headed, he had a hand in the diplomatic side of things, but his usual place was at court, near Freeza, learning the arts of politics. Vegeta had been satisfied with his lot, putting his innate instincts for war to good use and rising swiftly through Freeza’s ranks to become one of the youngest generals in the Empire’s history. He spent glorious years waging war, pushing the edges of Freeza’s empire further than ever before, and was, to a degree, content with his lot, waiting to reach the arbitrary age of thirty that Freeza’s culture seemed to deem the minimum acceptable age to ascend leadership of anything greater than a city, at which point he would return ‘home’ to take his throne in the Northlands of the East Continent. 

That event was a mere two years away, and Vegeta could almost taste the freedom. He had so many plans to improve the condition of his homeland and its people, with the support and resources afforded him by his ‘father’. He intended to return the Saiyans to their status of old, a force to be reckoned with. With his brother’s intellect to hand and his own might he planned to lead the Saiyans to a glorious new sunrise.

That is, if he survived his dance lessons.

“Very good of course, your highness,” warbled the obsequious instructor, “but we would profit if you could keep your back a little straighter.”

“More than a little, look at that slouch,” Berryblue barked from the sidelines, “Don’t kid-glove him, the emperor is not paying you for flattery.”

And then there was Berryblue. Vegeta didn’t think there there was a single person in the Empire, excepting Freeza, who had more power than she did. She was omnipresent always, and yet somehow never in the foreground. He didn’t know the true extent of her authority, having no official title beyond Mistress Berryblue, but somehow whenever some important task or event was underway she was there, guiding things in the desired direction. She alone in all of Freeza’s court had the self-assurance to criticise him so openly to his face.

“I’m not slouching,” he growled, irritably.

“You are practically bent double, boy,” she retorted, her face as impassive as ever. “Stand up straight, start again.”

“And will you stop calling me ‘boy’, I’m not a child!”

“Really?” she queried, peering down her nose at him. “You certainly act like one.”

“Listen here, witch-”

“Vegeta,” he was interrupted, “if you keep this up we’re going to be at Fire Mountain before you get these steps memorised.”

Tarble, stepping out from his usual place in the background, glared at his brother in frustration. Vegeta lifted his chin defiantly, but he knew what was coming.

“Nobody is asking you to do anything  **unreasonable** , brother,” he pleaded in his irresistibly reasonable cadence. “We’ve all had to learn these dances as part of this diplomatic delegation. The East Empire has strict betrothal traditions that we must adhere to lest we offend your new in-laws.”

“Perhaps that is his Highness’s plan,” Berryblue suggested a little snidely, “to make himself so grotesquely unattractive that his new bride rejects him outright and he can back to playing at swords.”

“How dare you! I would never offend the honour of this dynasty like that!”

“Then prove it! Stand up straight, listen to your instructor and wipe that sour look off of your face.”

“Please, Vegeta,” Tarble added, his expression softening. “We have only two days before this ship arrives at the Ox King’s palace. I know this is short notice, but I also know that no one learns as quickly as you.”

“I feel stupid prancing about like this,” he admitted finally.

“No more so than when at Freeza’s court, you danced then.”

“Barely…” he growled, then sighed. “But if it’s that important to you...I’ll learn the damned dance.”

“You need to more than just learn it, your highness,” Berryblue put in, sensing that a touch of politeness would now grease the wheels. “We need for you to excel. You need to be the most dashing, elegant man on the dance floor. You need to stand tall and make your house proud.”

“I don’t know about standing  _ tall _ ,” he replied with a wry smirk, “but I’ll do what I can not to embarrass us.”

Berryblue smirked back, shaking her head. She gestured to the instructor, who had stood at the sidelines nervously throughout this familial squabble. He leapt into action.

“Right! Yes! Please follow my lead, your Highness.”

*******************************

Had the curriculum that had been suddenly thrust upon him been limited to the dancing alone, Vegeta would have still thought himself hard done by, but to his continued horror the lessons were constant and minute. He’d thought his court manners were perfectly acceptable, never raising an eyebrow at Palace Cold, but Tarble was not satisfied. It wasn’t enough that Vegeta was competently polite by the standards of the West Empire, he was now forced to learn the customs of the East and to somehow, in the space of a scant forty eight hours, master them.

“Tarble stop; it’s so late, this is too much,” he complained, pushing away the hand written book of correct title addresses that Tarble had put together. It was alarmingly thick for what he thought ought to be a slim reference guide. “The Princess must know I’m a foreigner, what is she going to expect, really?”

“She’s going to expect Saiyan royalty,” Tarble retorted, sliding the book back towards his brother. “You are a shaky diplomat at best, my brother. It is my job to make sure you are prepared for this.”

“If you wanted me to be prepared then you should have given more than a couple of fucking days warning.”

“Point acknowledged, but I was concerned the deal would fall through, and then you’d know that we were trying to marry you off and start trying to sabotage our future efforts.”

“That’s remarkably blunt for you, brother,” Vegeta remarked.

“I’m tired, and you’re being difficult.”

“Would anybody blame me?”

“Vegeta,” Tarble put his hand flat on the desk, staring his brother out with a frustrated and worldly glare, “you may be my elder but you can be so bloody dense at times. Here you are, surrounded by opulence, heir to a kingdom, off to meet a beautiful and valuable woman who has, to all intents and purposes, accepted you as her future husband, and you complain because you’re expected to forgo a little beauty sleep in order to learn the correct way to address your bride’s third-cousin-once-removed?”

Vegeta glared back at his brother for a few seconds, before snatching the book and rifling through it.

“Cousin on which side?”

“Paternal.”

“Male or female?”

“Male.”

“Which line?”

“Ox, secondary.”

He paused a moment.

“...Your Grace.”

Tarble smiled approvingly, his tired eyes glowing. He even leant back in his chair, a gesture of approbation.

“Look, I’m not trying to piss you off,” Vegeta said placatingly, “but you’re overthinking this. You’re going to worry yourself into an early grave over this minutiae.”

“Agh, you might be right,” Tarble admitted, rubbing his eyes. “But I have to do this. I know you’re just not wired up to think about this kind of thing, and what kind of brother would I be if I let you miss out on the most advantageous of marriages due to some silly misstep I could have foreseen?”

“Tarble, my brother, have you seen this letter?” Vegeta reasoned, reaching into his doublet for the gracefully penned note that he’d been presented with by Emperor Freeza. It was signed by Princess Chi-Chi. “It’s so very clearly a done deal.”

“Yes, it’s a truly beautiful letter,” Tarble agreed with a smirk, “just as lovely as the one you sent to her.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve gotten very good at forging your signature.”

“You little shit.”

“My point is that the note you’re holding up as proof that this marriage is a sure bet was most likely dictated by her father, as our letter was by yours.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Tarble,” Vegeta said slowly, “we’re alone. You know you don’t have to call him father.”

“He is our father-in-law, on paper, and you know how I feel about ink on paper.”

“Yes, by the Gods do I know,” he sighed. “Sometimes I worry that you might attempt to wed your own library.”

“I will never wed,” Tarble replied flatly, showing a rare sliver of uncurated emotion.

“Tarble, are you still…?”

“Shut up.”

“It was so long ago.”

“Vegeta, I’m warning you…”

“Alright, fine. Let’s go back to ...what were we doing?”

“How would you address Princess Chi-Chi’s maternal grandmother?”

Vegeta sighed and reached for the book.

* * *

  
“Stop yawning,” Tarble hissed.

“You kept me up half the night with your stupid lessons,” Vegeta snapped back irritably.

“We’re going to land any second and if you keep garning like that you’re gonna make me-”

Tarble glowered at his brother as he succumbed to his own yawn. Vegeta chuckled.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the elder brother said, “it’s blatantly your own fault.”

The ship juddered and lurched; Tarble reached for the rail to steady himself. They were stood in the disembarkation bay of Freeza’s airship, surrounded by toadies and servants. On Vegeta’s other side stood Freeza and Berryblue. All were resplendently dressed, and Freeza’s face was exquisitely painted.

“We’re landing,” Tarble whispered. “Make sure the first thing they see of you isn’t your blasted tonsils.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes, but he stifled his subsequent yawn.

“That’s enough from the pair of you,” Freeza cut in calmly. “If I have to reprimand either of you in front of our hosts then I will be deeply disappointed in you.”

Tarble and Vegeta both looked ahead, their faces impassive but their eyes slightly narrowed. The ship vibrated as the captain brought her down, then with a gentle thud, the shuddering ceased and the hissing of the hydraulics sputtered to life as the loading door split open, admitting the late morning sunshine.

“Remember Vegeta, best behaviour,” Freeza said quietly to his protégée. “I want the Ox King to find you perfectly charming.”

“Of course,” he replied dryly, “on no account must he get to know the real me.”

Freeza chuckled, but did not respond. The bay doors were almost fully open and their eyes were adjusting to the glare. The silhouettes of awaiting diplomats were increasingly visible.

“Here we go,” Tarble whispered, and it was only Vegeta’s intimate knowledge of his brother that allowed him to detect the traces of worry in his voice. The plank clanked to the ground, the securing bolts slid into place, and the noise of machinery ceased entirely.

The young men stared ahead, waiting for their queue to disembark, but Freeza didn’t move a muscle. After a few seconds Vegeta turned his head slightly towards Freeza, a silent question, but he had no chance to answer; a huge man, vast in both muscle and bulk, had stepped onto their gangplank with a heavy and unceremonious tread. He wore a fur lined leather jerkin over his immense chest, suede breeches and a vast fur cloak over the whole. His thick leather boots, twice the size of one of Vegeta’s, were tipped with gleaming steel, and also trimmed with animal pelts. He sported a dual horned helmet, simply made of wood, bone and metal. The other, more finely dressed attendants, had made way for him as he strode through their midst and straight on to Freeza’s ship. Vegeta had a sudden, sinking suspicion.

“Freeza, you made it! How goes it?” the great bear of a man bellowed.

Surely it couldn’t be, Vegeta thought, trying to keep all expression from his face.

“Your Majesty, I cannot tell you how pleased I am to finally make your acquaintance,” Freeza intoned with formal grace.

“Come off it, why so stiff? We’re going to be in-laws, are we not?” The Ox King guffawed. “Put it there!”

The great man pulled Freeza’s relatively tiny fist into his, bending slightly to do so, and commenced the roughest handshake Vegeta had ever witnessed. Freeza could barely keep his countenance, and nor could the young Saiyans. Berryblue allowed herself an amused grin.

“Are these your boys, then?” the King asked, putting his arm around Freeza’s shoulders and gesturing at his companions.

“Uh, yes,” Freeza answered falteringly, a little wrong-footed. “This is my youngest, Tarble, and here is my heir, Prince General Vegeta.”

“I am honoured to make your Majesty’s acquaintance,” Vegeta said, bowing. 

“Like father, like son I see,” the great man joked. “Come here boy!”

Vegeta froze like a startled deer as the good humoured king took a single huge step towards him and wrapped his bear-like arms around his prospective son-in-law. Vegeta hadn’t been hugged since he was a small child.

“It’s alright, there’s no need to be shy,” the Ox King assured him, releasing Vegeta to look him over at arm’s length. “We’re going to be family.”

“I, uh, am…” Vegeta stammered, scrabbling for words. None of his training had prepared him for this and he shot a scathing glare at his little brother, who shook his head a tiny fraction, similarly confounded. “It is the honour of, um, that is my great pleasure-”

The big man laughed, a belly shaking explosion of sound that made Freeza wince. He wiped his crow-footed eyes.

“By all the Gods, Chi-Chi is going to suit you well,” he chuckled, “she loves all that protocol stuff as well. Me, I’m a military man, I’ve got no time for all that, but I wouldn’t dare to offend my esteemed guests with my lack of decorum. Forgive an old man his enthusiasm, and allow me to welcome you all to the East Empire, and Fire Mountain.”

“You are too kind,” Tarble supplied when his brother failed to answer.

“Prince Tarble, don’t think I’ve forgotten you. Our head magister is itching to make your acquaintance. We’re given to understand that you are a man of exceptional knowledge.”

“Is that so?” Tarble beamed, weathering a giant handshake with good grace. “Well you can tell him that the feeling is mutual, and I will be at his service at his earliest convenience.”

The Ox King laughed again, but made no other reply. He turned instead to his collection of advisors and diplomats, who all stared on with a sort of resigned malaise at their King’s friendly impropriety. For the first time Vegeta took notice of their own hangers-on, who were suitably shocked, and had to repress a laugh himself.

“Come, my good fellows, and my lady,” he nodded apologetically to Berryblue, who was by no means offended by having not received a physical greeting. “Let me show you around.”

He stomped down the gangplank confidently, and the delegation, exchanging sheepish looks, followed. Vegeta looked quizzically at his brother again who shrugged and smiled lopsidedly. The heir shook his head and rolled his eyes, and fell in line with the rest of the delegation as they filed off the ship.


	7. Chapter 7

The warm yellow sunlight streamed in through the clear glass of the high arched windows, casting beams and shadows throughout the parlour. The room was decorated tastefully, the fabrics and furniture all of the highest quality, but in a modest fashion without pomp or extravagance. The walls were papered in a creamy magnolia accented with fine lines of pale green, and punctuated with regular bursts of colour in the forms of paintings or sweet smelling vases of flowers. The curtains were drawn back and smartly hung, so that every crease was as symmetrical as it could be, and every surface was meticulously clean, not a mote of dust to be seen. Books lined the walls, in pale wood cabinets, all perfectly organised by subject and author. Small ornaments of clear sentimental value were distributed about the limited surfaces; a well preserved child’s doll here, a framed caricature there, but on the main table in the centre of the room there was only a small vase of lilies and a china tea set laid out for two. One cup was missing from its saucer, the other sat with its contents rapidly cooling.

“You should drink your tea, your highness,” Princess Bulma advised, draining her cup and putting it down on the nearest surface without looking. She lounged in the padded window recess, the reflective blue satin of her skirts carelessly rumpled, watching the sky for ships. “It’ll be cold soon.”

Princess Chi-Chi swept across the room - the only woman Bulma knew who could glide angrily - retrieved the cup Bulma had carelessly discarded and replaced it carefully onto its saucer. She frowned at it a moment before turning it a half inch to match its sister. Bulma hid a smile behind the book she was half reading.

“The tea will help your nerves,” Bulma added, watching her friend stalk around the room in search of more things to tidy. 

“I’m not thirsty,” the Princess replied.

“No-one takes their medicine because they’re thirsty; I made you a lovely chamomile and lemon balm brew because I knew how you were going to be today.”

“Why do I let you in here?” Chi-Chi muttered, returning to her tea and sitting herself neatly at the table.

“Because I keep you from going crazy?”

“Bulma, you are  _ driving _ me crazy.”

“Ah that’s not fair. You’re just nervous,” she smiled again, returning her gaze to the window.

Chi-Chi sipped her tea; it was indeed going cold. She glanced at Bulma, who was dutifully not looking at her, and she parted her lips to take bigger gulps. Dabbing at her mouth with a napkin and assured that no-one saw her slightly ungenteel tea consumption, she returned to pacing the floor.

“Any sign of them yet?” she asked of her friend.

“Nothing,” Bulma replied. “Not since that merchant carrier. I can’t believe we thought that old sloop was one of Freeza’s.”

“Emperor Freeza,” Chi-Chi corrected, “Lord of the-”

“I know, I know,” Bulma waved her hand, “surely you’re not forcing me to do all those titles in private now as well?”

Chi-Chi sighed.

“No, I suppose not,” she lifted her cup and stared at the escaped leaves at the bottom. “It’s just ...this marriage is too important. If we were to lose the match to something as simple as an inappropriate address…”

“Then it’ll be over before you even meet him,” Bulma confirmed. “Your dad is meeting them at the docks, if they can’t handle a little informality then this engagement will be dissolved before sundown.”

“Bulma, you’re not helping!”

“Aren’t I? You read his letter, woman; it’s a done deal. And anyway, even if it doesn’t go off, do you even want to marry him really? A man you’ve never met?”

“We’ve been over this,” she replied heavily. “I’m the Crown Princess, whomever I wed shall wield power equal to mine when we ascend our thrones, the future ruler of the East Empire. It’s too important a decision to leave to the fickle whims of the heart. Father has selected a partner who has the experience and pedigree suited to a future king, whatever his personal charms or lack thereof. Prince Vegeta is the best suitor we’ve seen since I came of age and it is of paramount importance that we secure him.”

“‘Secure him’,” Bulma repeated, shaking her head, “like he’s some kind of trade deal.”

“That’s exactly what this is,” Chi-Chi started seriously.

“I know the customs,” Bulma sighed, “but I always thought Ox King would find another way for you.”

“My father loves me, and that is why he’s arranged this marriage.”

“I just wish there were another way.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Chi-Chi looked away, staring at nothing. She smoothed out her modest, dark silk robes. “You’re the second daughter of a mercantile king, you won’t have the same pressures put on you.”

“I’m not saying you should have a love marriage, I’m neither that soppy nor that naive, but you should at least get to choose, to be an active party in how your future is to unfold.”

“I’m happy with my father’s choice,” Chi-Chi stated firmly.

“You seem it.”

“What about you?” the Princess asked, a sudden sly smirk crossing her face. “You’re five years older than me, when are you going to accept a suitor?”

“Okay first of all, I am  _ three  _ years older than you, and secondly-” Bulma took a calming breath, seeing how her friend was grinning impishly at her. “Secondly, I’ll have you know that I have a suitor in mind, actually.”

“What? Since when?”

“Well, I was going to check him out first before I mentioned it, but as you’re just so inquisitive-”

“Bulma, stop obfuscating.”

“Prince Tarble,” Bulma told her, crossing her arms and tilting her chin back defiantly, though her eyes sparkled playfully.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“But they say he’s a dwarf.”

“What of it? He’s highly ranked within Lord Freeza’s household, he’s an accomplished scholar in my field, and as the brother of my best friend’s husband, it would be an eminently suitable match, especially as we’re going to be doing so much work together while you get to know his brother. Imagine it Chi-Chi, we’ll be inseparable.”

“And now who is thinking of marrying a man she’s never met!”

“This is different,” Bulma retorted, “this would be my choice. No-one will arrange my marriage for me.”

“It must be nice to have the luxury of choice,” Chi-Chi said quietly, before blushing at her own words. “That is, to have a much greater pool of suitors to choose from.”

“I guess it’s lonely at the top, huh?” Bulma put her book down and stepped over to her friend. The sleeves of her dress hung down, swishing as she walked. “You’re right, it is easier for me; my sister is the one who has to worry about succession and a suitable husband and all that, whereas I could marry a prince or a pauper and all anyone would care about would be if he wore the right clothes and had good enough manners. But I only get to choose once, and I intend to use make that decision carefully. If it means I get to live my days beside my best friend, then I would consider that a wise choice.”

“Hm-hm,” Chi-Chi laughed, “perhaps I should marry you instead.”

“I don’t think I’d quite fit your criteria for a future king,” Bulma laughed in return, putting her hands on her shoulders. “Now we should probably get ready for tonight because I’m pretty sure I can see Freeza’s fleet coming in over Paozu Forest.”

“What?! Oh Dragon, you’re right!”

“Why did we pick the West side of the castle for your rooms?” Bulma muttered, watching the shining gold and bronze vessels approach the mountain. “I would at least have liked a chance to watch them disembark. Let’s go to the East Wing and watch through the guard tower.”

“No, absolutely not! That’s bad luck!”

“Well, for you maybe-”

“Bulma!” Chi-Chi all but shrieked.

“Alright, alright, no spying. I’ll call in the maids. Have you picked a robe?”

“Yes, the white,” Chi-Chi said, but then turning added, “no wait, the black and maroon ...I think. Or maybe the pink?”

Bulma started at her a moment, an eyebrow raised.

“I’ll tell them to bring them all.”

“Yes,” Chi-Chi blushed, wringing her hands endearingly, “that’s probably for the best.”

******************************

“It looks fine, Tarble,” an exasperated Vegeta insisted as Tarble and the valet fussed over the fit of his silk shirt. “Why can’t I wear what I had on at dinner?”

“You know why!” Tarble retorted, holding up different coloured cloaks. “This is the presentation ceremony. How you look will be important, damn it that’s what presentation means!”

“Why couldn’t I meet the Princess at dinner?”

“The men eat together before the ceremony, the father gets to know the newcomer, meanwhile the women get ready in privacy. It’s tradition.”

“Seems like I’m marrying her father,” Vegeta grumbled.

“There’s no danger of that, you left me to do all the talking at dinner,” Tarble snapped. “And thanks for that, by the way.”

“You seemed to be having so much fun,” his brother replied drily, lifting his arm so that the valet could fasten gold embroidered bands around his biceps. He found them gaudy but had to admit that he liked how they made the fabric lay.

“I was pretending! And so should you!”

“You want me to lie to an old man?”

“Vegeta don’t pretend to have morals,” Tarble sighed, handing his chosen cloak to the valet who immediately got to work attaching it to the small breastplate of Vegeta ceremonial dress armour. “I’m going to get ready now. Don’t move until I come back.”

“Excuse me, by whose authority do you give  _ me  _ orders?”

“Whose authority?” Tarble repeated, turning round from the entrance to his own room with a smirk. “Our dear father’s, remember?”

“He’s not here.”

“True, but if I tell him that this engagement was endangered by my brother’s lackadaisical attitude to dress I’m sure he will be so very patient and forgiving-”

“Alright, piss off. I’ll wait here,” Vegeta snarled, then turning to the poor valet who had paused through this small battle; “Get on with it man! Hurry up!”

Tarble smirked and left the room.

******************************

“You didn’t mention this part,” Vegeta hissed angrily. They were approaching a large, beautiful marble landing, from which descended a vast staircase of the same stone that fed into a massive ballroom. The landing was separated from the corridor beyond by heavy wooden doors, currently throw open, and heavy velvet curtains that were parted individually for every new guest. From a distance Vegeta had heard the Master of Ceremonies announcing each individual guest as they arrived.

“I knew you’d complain,” the tiny Saiyan shrugged. “Besides, you don’t need to do anything for this, just look nice and walk down some steps.”

“With the whole damned place staring at us. Thanks for the warning!”

“Well you know now don’t you?”

“Tarble I hate this, all of this, I hope you know that.”

“Boys that is enough,” Freeza hissed over his shoulder. He was walking ahead, as befitted his station. “Just suck it up, Vegeta. Anyone else might call your behaviour ungrateful!”

They mumbled their apologies and covered the last few steps in silence, pointedly not looking at each other. Vegeta winced at the sounds of elegant revelry the issued from the ballroom.

“Lord Freeza,” bowed a finely dressed servant, his hand on the thick, velvet curtain, “it is our honour to present you. It is our custom that the head of the family is announced first.”

“Proceed,” he ordered simply.

“Head up, shoulders back,” Tarble whispered.

“I know!” Vegeta snapped quietly, gritting his teeth as the curtain was pulled back to reveal them. The voices lowered slightly in anticipation of the new arrivals.

“The Magnificent Court of the Ox King presents his high lordship, King of the Western Seas, Lord of the Skies, Jewel of the Cold Dynasty and the High Lord of the West Empire, his Imperial Majesty Emperor Freeza!” the Master of Ceremonies declared in a magically amplified voice. Freeza breathed in, adopted his most regal and aloof expression and, after pausing a moment to allow the crowd to take in the sheer opulence of his attire, descended with grace and elegance to the ballroom. The crowds parted respectfully, and Vegeta was grateful for the hush his adopted father’s presence had caused.

“Imperial Prince of the West Empire, Crown Prince of the Northlands, Royal General of the Imperial West Empire, his Imperial Highness Prince Vegeta!”

“That’s you,” Tarble teased.

“Fuck off.”

Vegeta lifted his chin and began his descent. He detested the way the room stared at him, taking apart his attire, already spying for weaknesses - at least in his mind. He felt continued gratitude to Freeza for continuing to draw off the attention of the assembled masses, and secretly admitted that Tarble’s incessant attention to tailoring had its benefits.

“...and Prince of the Northlands, his Imperial Highness Prince Tarble!”

He could hear Tarble’s light tread not far behind him, following the much shorter list of acclaims in his brother’s announcements. Vegeta joined Freeza at the base of the stairs, followed by his brother. They held for a moment, Freeza silently demanding the assembly’s admiration. The pause was just long enough, and with a general nod Freeza stepped forwards, entering the crowd with his protégés in tow.

“You’re alright,” Tarble whispered to his brother, “you’re doing fine.”

“Where’s the Princess?” Vegeta asked, privately convinced that he wouldn’t be able to stand more than ten minutes of the cloying, hot, noisy ballroom with it’s overdressed and over-perfumed guests.

“She won’t be out for another hour or so,” Tarble replied, trying to give Vegeta a reassuring pat on the wrist, but his brother was far too twitchy and pulled away instinctively. “Guests of honour are introduced after the rabble but before the Royal Family.”

“So I have an hour to wait before I can finally meet the wife you’ve chosen for me?”

“An hour to meet members of her family and the court,” Tarble corrected, “and of course there are representatives here from all over the East Continent.”

“Not the Northlands.”

“No,” Tarble said, looking away, “Steward Paragus has been unable to attend on this occasion.”

“Funny, that.”

“Probably too busy holed up in our father’s castle trying to think of how to prevent me from dethroning him in two years time.”

“This is not the place,” Tarble said quietly, smiling at a passing lord who was trying to catch their eyes. “Just try to have a good time, or at least the appearance of it. Once all the festivities are over you can go back to waging wars and sleeping in tents.”

Vegeta said nothing, but he adjusted his cloak slightly and stood up a little straighter.

“You must be Prince Tarble!”

They turned in unison, surprised to hear Tarble addressed so enthusiastically. A tall thin gentleman stood before them, his robes neat but not elegant, and with thick eyeglasses, bushy eyebrows and wind blown facial hair that rather offended Vegeta, if only because he’d been forced to submit to rigorous grooming.

“I am the head of magitech studies at the university here in Fire Mountain City. I’m given to understand you are a prodigious scholar and will be guest lecturing for my students?”

“Ah yes,” Tarble beamed, enjoying the novelty of being addressed over his brother. Vegeta stepped back politely, using his brother as a shield between himself and this eccentric academic.

“Tell me, young man, what are your thoughts on transference and the principals of perpetual matter?”

“Well that’s actually something I intend to talk about,” Tarble replied enthusiastically. “The ships of the West Empire rekey heavily on those principals, and while I’m not at liberty to give away all our secrets, I am most certainly excited to...to…”

Tarble had turned slightly, and out of the corner of his eye had spied his brother stepping further and further away from him, and he grew suddenly suspicious.

“...Um, to explore the constraints and applications of energy transference with your students and the ways we can manipulate that…”

Tarble couldn’t get out of this conversation without causing offence, and Vegeta knew it. Tarble looked desperately to Freeza, who was immersed in conversation with an elegant older woman who was fawning over him. He glanced back at his brother, trying to silently plead with him but he was too late; Vegeta had melted into the crowd and disappeared.

******************************

Passing through the crowd had been the difficult part, trying his best not to hear any of the guests try to introduce themselves as he powered through, and from there he had only to slip between the guards and through a small unassuming door pass into the corridors beyond. The guards made no attempt to stop him leaving. 

Vegeta knew he would regret it later, that Tarble would run straight to Freeza and he would be in for it, but he was suffocating. He couldn’t stand the crowds, the noise, the aimless chatter, so he escaped. Besides, he reasoned to himself, Tarble had said it himself, he had an hour before the Princess was due to be presented, all he had to do was be back for then. He checked his pocketwatch for confirmation and smiled.

The corridors were deserted, with the exception of the occasional guard patrol. They would salute and stand aside for him, but he largely ignored them.

The castle was vast, situated in the shadow of Fire Mountain, the volcano that some believed housed the Great Dragon. It had also been the work of several generations, and it showed in the architecture. The ballroom was a more modern addition, but the corridors with their ancient stonework were part of the original construction, with decorative dark wood panels lining the lower half, which were added much later. A short tour of the castle had been provided by Ox King upon arrival, where he had relayed some of the history of the place and shown them the most impressive views from the battlements. The capitol city sprawled in every direction, bounded by a series of high stone walls, walls that had seen off countless invaders throughout a long and bloody history. Vegeta smirked wryly as he recalled that at some point those walls had likely repelled his own ancestors.

He ascended a staircase, not really paying attention to where he was going, only keeping track of his return route. It took him to a newer, carpeted run of corridor with tall arched windows containing thick panes of square-panelled glass. The stonework here was more decorative, the windows framed artistically. Instead of shields, banners and the occasional portrait of a famous general, the walls were hung with smaller paintings of lighter subjects. He glanced around at the doors lining the inner wall, wondering if he’d happened upon a residential wing.

Voices ahead stopped him in his tracks, light, silvery voices full of femenine levity. They drifted from around the corner of a connecting corridor. He glanced backwards, saw the staircase was too far for him to make without being seen by the unknown revellers, at the same time knowing he couldn’t advance quickly enough to pass them before they turned their corner. A peal of laughter, energetic, warm and imminently close, announced that his limited decision making time was up. The party stepped out into view.

There were three modestly dressed individuals, two maids and a young man, but he almost didn’t notice them over the woman around whom they orbited; she was something to behold. Her dress was of a deep sapphire silk and trimmed with some kind of silver thread embroidery, and with a sheer abundance of skirts that made her already slim waist appear absolutely tiny. She had a shawl but it didn’t touch her bare neck or shoulders, instead being draped over her arms and shimmering as she waved her lace fan. She wore no gloves on her pale hands, only a tasteful array of jewelery, including a very fine necklace that drew the eye down to her finely shaped collarbone. Her wealth of turquoise hair was swept up, artificially curled, and pinned in a complicated fashion, adorned with delicate silver ornaments. A lone curl was allowed to fall over her shoulder, with another set free to frame her face, and though it was her face he noticed last, it was that which arrested his attention the longest.

She was pretty, beautiful even, but beyond that she had such expression in her bright eyes, such intelligence around her painted lips, her delicate nose even now wrinkled in a display of mirth. This was a woman who talked, who laughed, who communicated. He wondered what they had been speaking of to cause such laughter. Her finery and elegance was beyond anything he’d witnessed in that stuffy ballroom, and with Tarble’s assurance that every other reveller was already in attendance beyond the royal family themselves, there was no mistaking who this must be. He couldn’t make out a resemblance to her father in her facial features - thankfully - but her artlessness, her easy laughter, her regal bearing; this could only be the Ox King’s daughter.

“Your highness, we must hurry,” the young man advised, looking less amused than the others, “we’re going to be late for presentation.”

“I’m never late,” she replied with sardonic authority, “whenever I arrive  _ that _ is the right time-”

They stopped suddenly, finally seeing the Saiyan frozen before them. She held up a hand in a small gesture to her servants, who stepped back respectfully.

“Uh, I ...forgive me, your highness,” Vegeta scrabbled for his court manners, “I was getting some air, I didn’t realise I’d wandered so far.”

“No apology is necessary,” she replied with a smile, absently fanning herself. “Although we are now at a bit of a quandary as to how to proceed with this introduction.”

Remembering himself, he bowed quickly, blushing.

“I beg your pardon,” he stammered, “it is an honour to finally meet you.”

“And I you, your highness,” she laughed, curtseying gracefully. “Our parents didn’t intend for us to invent such an informal introduction for ourselves.”

“Ah, you know who I am,” Vegeta replied, blushing further.

“Well you could only be one of two Saiyans, and I think that your brother wouldn’t dare leave the ballroom,” she smirked, eyebrow raised. “I’m only surprised that you seem to know  _ me. _ ”

“Um, your highness,” whispered one of the maids, but was waved away by the princess.

“I think it’s hard to mistake a woman of your rank, your highness.”

She laughed, a little shyly but her eyes were sparkling.

“I should probably head back,” he continued, “I’ll make you late for the presentation.”

“Oh no-one cares about that old ritual,” she asserted, ignoring her servants who were still trying respectfully to get her attention. “We can just go in the back way.”

“But ...the ceremony, is it not of great importance?”

“Not to me,” she shrugged. “We were meant to be introduced, and now we have been. And given our upcoming relationship I think it better we dispense with the formality forthwith.”

“I have to admit that I prefer your way.”

“Well how about it then?” she said, offering her hand as her maids made one last frantic attempt to communicate with their mistress. “I’m sure my servants are itching to have their leisure time now, why don’t we head down to the ball by ourselves? I’ll get us in quietly.”

He took the hand, allowing her to balance it delicately on his arm as they turned back the way Vegeta had come, leaving the aghast servants behind them.

******************************

She couldn’t believe her luck. She’d expected a dwarf, but this prince was barely an inch shorter than herself, and carried himself so well that she hardly even noticed. He was handsome too, in a sharp way, with striking features and intelligent eyes. Even his distinctive hair, a style particular to Saiyans she understood, was growing on her as they walked. 

He spoke very little, allowing her to control the conversation, which suited her well enough for now. She talked about the castle, about the history of the country, about the beautiful Summer they were having, always careful to keep the subject matter light lest she commit an impropriety. Chi-Chi would never let it go if she accidentally offended her betrothed’s little brother.

Thinking of that, the elder Prince Vegeta was supposedly superior to his younger brother in looks, and if this specimen was anything to go by then she no longer felt as sorry for Chi-Chi.

“How was your journey?” she asked, deciding she’d been speaking for too long.

“Tedious,” he replied without thinking, “that is, I was expected to learn a great deal in a short time.”

“Our customs are a little different,” she admitted, “but the Ox King’s court is very diverse, you ought not to have troubled yourself so much; a little deviation would not have offended.”

“I’m glad to hear it, and I can’t wait to tell my brother that!”

“Ah yes, I remember reading his letter,” Bulma smiled coyly.

“Oh, so you know he wrote it?”

“Well, who else?”

“You seem to know a lot about my brother.”

“True, but I’m more interested in learning about you at this moment,” she smiled fully at him, but was prevented from elaborating by the appearance of a royal guard.

“Your highness, what are you-?”

“Hey, Yamcha, just the man I was looking for,” she grinned, trying to subtly nod at the Saiyan whose arm she was lightly holding. “Could you let us in the back way?”

“Um, your highness, that is, your highnesses, your father is waiting for you at the main entrance.”

“Oh come on, you know me. I can’t be bothered with all that fuss,” she winked. “Just tell him I’ve come in the back way and he can be presented without me.”

The guard apparently named Yamcha looked from Bulma to her companion and back again, biting his lip.

“Would it not seem ...improper?”

“No-one will notice, trust me,” she smiled confidently.

“If ...if you say so,” he gave in, with one last suspicious look at the Saiyan. “Follow me.”

He led them to one of the back doors, unlocking it with a key and cracking it open slowly.

“You would have struggled to get back in unseen without my help,” she pointed out coquettishly.

Her companion blushed a little but said nothing. He locked eyes for a moment with Yamcha, who though not outright disrespectful, seemed to show little pleasure in meeting him. She tugged his arm and they slipped in through the door.

“Thanks, Yamcha,” she whispered as they passed. The guard only nodded as he shut it behind him, his expression unfathomable.

“Are you so informal with all of your guards?” he asked her quietly.

“Oh, no, I just, I’ve known him for a long time,” she explained. “I got him the job here.”

“For what reason?”

“He saved my life once,” she said simply, her tone implying that she didn’t want to elaborate. “Hey, we’re just in time for the next dance. Shall we?”

“Aren’t we supposed to wait for the presentation ceremony?”

“No? Did your brother tell you that?”

“I suppose he could have been mistaken,” he hesitated. “I don’t dance often at home ...but if it’s you asking, I don’t see how I can refuse.”

“You’re quite right,” she laughed, putting her hands in his and leading him to the dancefloor. She noticed with a smidge of pride how people stared at them as they passed. “Do you know the style?”

“I’ve had some lessons, but don’t expect too much.”

“That’s quite alright, I’ll help you.”

They made their starting positions just in time, and the band struck up a number. Bulma immediately stepped to the familiar melody, impressed as her partner followed with only a little hesitation. He seemed very self-conscious, but he was managing well.

“Your lessons must have been good,” she encouraged, smiling a little flirtatiously. She knew she ought to rein it in, but she had interpreted his lack of verbosity as stemming from his clearly being stunned by her, and her ego swelled as he blush and fumbled his words.

“Relax,” she told him, “we’re just two people enjoying a party. There’s no reason to be nervous.”

“I think we were meant to wait for the formal presentation,” he repeated, his eyes darting left and right at the couples who were looking at them with surprise. 

“Don’t worry, this is just an informal dance,” she whispered reassuringly. “Ignore them, they’re just impressed.”

“But our first dance is meant to be ceremonial, is it not?”

“I think your brother may have overinflated the importance of our future relationship,” Bulma laughed, touching his arm lightly, “but I’m open to the idea of getting to know you as more than just a colleague.”

“...I’m sorry?” he asked, his face a mask of confusion. The dance was winding down and it occurred to Bulma that the onlookers really were quite focussed on them.

“We’re going to be working together, at the University?”

“No, that’s ...that’s not…”

As the couples around them bowed and curtseyed to mark the end of the dance, they stood still, Bulma’s smile frozen as they stared at each other. She was snapped out of it by a tiny figure stalking around the edge of the dancefloor to accost her partner with barely contained anger.

“Vegeta!” the smaller man, a Saiyan with a remarkable resemblence to the prince, hissed as he grabbed the taller man’s arm. “What were you thinking?!”

“Wait ...Vegeta?” she whispered, taking a step back in sickened shock. She took in the shorter man, putting the pieces together, her face reddening.

“She told me I should dance,” Vegeta defended himself, looking at who she now realised was the real Tarble.

“I ...you’re not…” she mumbled, taking another step back, and looking about her to see her fellow revellers talking excitedly behind their fans. “Oh  _ no. _ ”

“I told you, your first dance  _ has _ to be with Princess Chi-Chi!”

Vegeta looked up and met Bulma’s widened eyes, his own full of chagrin.

“But ...I thought…”

“The magnificent court of the Ox King is proud to present,” the master of ceremonies began, and Vegeta turned with the whole room just in time to see the Ox King, followed by an elegant young woman dressed resplendently in beautiful silks, sporting an exquisite tiara in her intricately coifed raven hair. She lowered her eyes demurely, but held her head and shoulders back with unmistakable pride, her beautiful face white as marble as the master of ceremonies announced the Ox King.

“And for presentation to engagement, it is this court’s honour to introduce, the Jewel of the East Empire…”

“Oh fuck,” Vegeta muttered, unable to look away. He could still see Tarble seething from the corner of his eye.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Chi-Chi.”

“ _ Fuck. _ ”


	8. Chapter 8

All eyes were upon her. There was such a variety of race and fashion on display, indicative of the many different nations who had sent representatives to observe this ritual, a veritable spectrum of opulence that dazzled even her, and among them would be her future groom, the man to whom she was pledged to tie herself forever. She kept her eyes trained on the marble staircase, unwilling to look up, not yet ready to see him. Princess Chi-Chi lifted her dainty slipper and began her descent.

No music played, and Chi-Chi could hear the small noises of a hushed ballroom; the rustle of a skirt here, the tinkling of gold bracelets there, it was a gentle susurration of sounds that she normally enjoyed. This ball was very different, as they all well knew. She hated how loud her own footsteps sounded to her.

Her father’s heavy step on the marble stairs caught her attention, and she lifted her eyes with equal parts relief and anxiety to see that he was coming to meet her. It wasn’t quite the tradition, but she was grateful to have his hand and his imposing presence around her. She noted with familiar frustration that he was still wearing his favourite horned helmet with his dress armour.

“You look wonderful,” he said in an admirable attempt at a whisper.

“Thank you, daddy,” she replied, her lips barely moving.

“You’re going to be fine,” he assured her, squeezing her hand. “I had to do this once, and it all turned out well.”

Chi-Chi smiled weakly but didn’t answer. They’d reached the foot of the stairs and were continuing on to the centre of the ballroom, where her betrothed would be waiting. She couldn’t bring herself to look.

“He’s not too bad,” her father continued. “Warrior type, the maids say he’s good looking. I think you might like him.”

“I wish you’d stop fraternising with the staff like that,” she broke her silence to admonish him quietly.

“They’re the only honest people I know,” he joked, before growing serious. “Alright, you can’t put it off any longer,” he squeezed her fingers once more before releasing her. 

Her stomach was in knots, she could feel herself sweating in a most unladylike fashion and yet she felt entirely detached from herself, like she was recalling her present state as if it were a memory. She let her hand float gracefully to her side, before looking up as slowly as she dared to observe the assemblage.

They were gathered in a rough semi circle around her, and positioned centrally among them were two young men, their faces and garb unfamiliar, but clearly prominent. The taller of the two (though by no means a tall man himself), a warrior-like man with impossibly tall hair and a noble figure, was staring at her like a frightened deer.

“My dearest daughter,” her father rematerialised at her side, accompanied by a very richly dressed little man with a delicately painted face, “allow me to introduce you to Lord Freeza, of the West Empire.”

She curtsied deeply, relieved that her father had enunciated his lines as they had practiced. Lord Freeza bowed in return, his torso turned slightly with stylish polish.

“How d’you do?” she greeted as they rose.

“It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the painted Emperor returned, holding out his hand to take hers gently. He was clearly enjoying the pomp of it all. “Will you allow me to introduce to you my son?”

She acquiesced, as custom dictated, and was led to the man she had previously observed. He seemed nervous, a state with which Chi-Chi very much empathised.

“Princess Chi-Chi, it is my honour to introduce to you my eldest son, Prince Vegeta.”

She curtsied again, and he bowed in response, gracefully despite his clear discomfort.

“How d’you do?” she repeated.

“I -” he started, then glanced at the smaller man beside him, who she deduced must have been his brother, Prince Tarble. “It is my very great honour to make your acquaintance, your highness,” he then intoned correctly.

“The honour is mine,” she replied, slightly amused by his faltering delivery.

It was a silly ceremony, a formal introduction surrounded by friends, family and strangers alike, a performance of manners wherein the betrothed couple had now to act out a forced play of courtship. It had originally meant to be a chance for the couple to become acquainted, and from there either accept or decline their partner, but over generations it had devolved, and no betrothal had been rejected by the participants for over a century. It was little more than a formality, and it was clear from Prince Vegeta’s furtive glances at his father that he was as free to reject this marriage as she was. She felt a swell of sympathy for him, even as she fought to dismiss her own self-pity.

“Would you do me the great honour of dancing with me?” he asked her, the words rehearsed and uncomfortable. He held out his hand stiffly.

Ah yes, she sighed inwardly, the first dance. The couple, who in most cases had likely never even seen each other in the flesh before this moment, were now expected to prove to the assembled nobility their suitability for one another by displaying their superior skills as dance partners while the world boggled in admiration. Chi-Chi supposed it was as good a gauge as any as to whether two hitherto unacquainted individuals would achieve marital competency.

“The honour is mine,” she curtsied, and slipped her hand into his. He wore gloves, which was probably for the best because she suspected the young man’s hands were sweating as nervously as her own.

He led the way and the crowd parted for them as they took their place in the centre of the ballroom. She saw her father accost an aging baroness out of the corner of her eye, the elder woman blushing and giggling quietly behind her fan; his method for obtaining dance partners was famously direct.

The music began without a command, and the couple separated and faced each other within the circle of onlookers. The prince looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, and she tried to smile encouragingly, but she could not give him courage she didn’t feel herself. Their cue arrived and they moved in unison.

He danced well, though not enthusiastically. He was incredibly self conscious, and she could tell he was more focussed on remembering the steps than anything else. She was not a fan of formal dances either, but she was used to being stared at, which he clearly was not. The solo stanza passed without incident and she thought she saw him sigh with relief when the rest of the couples joined the dance. The scrutiny, though not over, was significantly lessened, and the increased couples on the dancefloor obscured them from gawkers. It also necessitated that they dance a little closer together.

“Well done,” she whispered to him as they joined hands for a section. 

He looked up at her with surprise. “Uh, thank you, your highness.”

“Under the circumstances, I think I would prefer it if you called me Chi-Chi,” she admitted with a sad smile as they turned on the floor to the music, “it makes this feel less transactional.”

“If that is your wish,” he complied hesitatingly.

“Don’t mistake me; protocol is important, and we have a great deal more of it to perform, but I think, under the circumstances, we can be forgiven for taking steps to hasten an intimacy.”

“Forgive me, this is all…” he started, but couldn’t find the words.

“I know,” she replied simply. “I really am pleased to meet you, by the way.”

“Yes, I’m pleased to meet you too,” he replied, touching her hand as she stepped around him, mirroring the couples around them.

“This party is meant to be for us to decide if we like each other enough to honour our parents’ wishes,” she continued, “and assuming there are no strong objections on either side our engagement will be announced officially after breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“I was just told I’m engaged now and that’s it,” he replied wryly.

“You do have a choice, you know,” Chi-Chi laughed, genuinely amused.

“I think we both know that I don’t,” he replied a little glumly, but he did look a touch more relaxed. “Please don’t think that’s in any way a reflection on you, this is just all very fast.”

“I’m not offended by you being honest with me,” she admitted, “and as we’re being candid, it’s fair to say that I don’t really get much say in this either.”

“Do you want to be married?” he asked, turning her to the music.

“I want to do what’s best for my empire.”

“Well I hope I can be a bearable duty.”

“You’re no ogre,” she smiled coyly, “I wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen with you in public.”

“And I’m in the happy position to confirm that reports of your beauty have not been exaggerated,” he returned, a little awkward in giving the compliment but at least earnest.

“We’re very much in the same boat, aren’t we?” she sighed. “Our respective courts will eviscerate us if we chose to cancel this engagement.”

“At least yours won’t do it literally.”

“Well that’s disturbing” she laughed. “This whole party is just a silly display of protocol, I promise you it will be a lot easier after this. Just follow my lead and we’ll get through this together.”

“Thank you,” he sighed. “Although, on the subject of protocol…”

“Yes?” she encouraged, spinning slowly in time.

“I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“I am to understand that my first dance was meant to be reserved for you alone,” he began quietly, looking away from her and biting his lip. “I …there was a woman, and she mistook me for someone else, and we didn’t realise…”

“You’ve danced already?” she asked, her brow arched.

“I know it is not the custom, but there was a misunderstanding - I would never have danced with her if I’d realised…”

“Who did you dance with?” Chi-Chi asked a little frostily.

“...I don’t know who she was.”

“You danced with an unknown woman?” 

“I’d left the ballroom to get some air, I met her in the family wing accidentally, and I thought…” he slowly confessed, his face a mask of chagrin, “...that she was you.”

“How on Earth-” she began, but her eye was arrested by a sorry figure lingering at the edge of the dancefloor, and she had a sudden suspicion. “Did she have blue hair?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately, taken aback. “How did you know?”

Chi-Chi sighed, suppressing a smile. She could see Bulma, her cheeks beetroot red, trying to hide behind her fan by the far wall, occasionally glancing their way with eyes full of mortification; Bulma had always had a terrible poker face.

“You danced with a close friend and advisor of mine, and I think I can guess the steps that led you there,” Chi-Chi sighed lightly. “I suppose you were well observed?”

He nodded, lips pulled thin in consternation.

“Well, that’s certainly a faux pas, but not a capital offence,” she mused as the music wound down to its conclusion. “I know how to handle this, just follow my lead.”

The couples swayed to a stop as the dance concluded, and as one turned to face the central couple, applauding politely their virgin dance. Chi-Chi gave a modest curtsy, and Vegeta followed suit with a genteel bow. She held out her hand.

“Come this way,” she whispered as he let her hand slip into the crook of his arm, “let’s nip any rumours in the bud.”

Chi-Chi strode confidently, her gentle pressure on Vegeta’s arm guiding him without voiding the appearance of him leading their walk. They passed through the couples on the dancefloor, all of whom bowed as they made a path for them. Chi-Chi fielded the compliments and congratulations from well wishers with a graceful smile, but didn’t allow anyone to stop her. Meanwhile her trajectory had not gone unnoticed by Bulma, who was now making a Herculean effort to compose herself.

“My dearest Princess Bulma,” Chi-Chi smiled widely, holding out her hand to prevent her friend from performing a submissive curtsy. She pressed Bulma’s fingers lightly to her lips, her eyes playful but her brow arched reprovingly. “Thank you for vetting my prospective fiancé; it was a lot to ask of you, but your kindness in sacrificing a dance of your own to allow our foreign visitor one last chance to practice the steps with you was most obliging.”

“I…” Bulma’s mouth hung open for half a second before she caught on, and bowed her head with a smile. “Of course, my dear friend, I would never refuse such a request from you.”

They were both speaking performatively, believably natural but loud enough that those listening in could clearly hear. Vegeta looked from one to the other in confusion.

“I know it isn’t customary, but times are changing, and we must change with them, wouldn’t you agree?” this last remark Chi-Chi directed towards Vegeta specifically, who agreed politely, but couldn’t help but turn his narrowed eyes on the blue haired woman who had so very nearly humiliated him. She returned his expression wholeheartedly.

“I think Bulma would very much like to be introduced to your brother,” Chi-Chi continued, missing the frosty silence between the other two. She was mostly relieved to see the gossips losing interest in what they had hoped to be a scandal and instead returning to vapid talk about the thread count in Chi-Chi’s pearl grey and rose pink kimono. 

“Oh, right this instant?” Bulma asked, her eyes pleading. “I’m still a little breathless from the dance, I thought I might get some air-”

“Nonsense,” Chi-Chi laughed, “you’re as fit as a fiddle.”

_And if I have to put up with this bullshit, then so do you, _were the words unspoken but understood between them.

Bulma sighed, but swiftly morphed it into a smile. She fell into step with them, walking on Chi-Chi’s free side and doing her best to pay no more than the minimum polite attention to the Saiyan.

“Your father danced well,” Bulma said conversationally.

“What, really?” Chi-Chi asked, momentarily informal in her surprise.

“Well, enthusiastically.”

“Ah,” she smiled warmly, “that sounds about right. How is the dowager?”

“She’s taken to the chaise on the balcony; apparently she’s a touch fatigued.”

“I’m hardly surprised.”

“Speak of the devil,” Bulma nudged her friend as the Ox King himself parted the crowds to march in their direction.

“Give me strength,” Chi-Chi muttered quietly through a practiced smile.

“Kids!” the great man declared, holding his arms out. “You cut a fine pair on the dancefloor.”

“Thank you, father,” Chi-Chi curtsied formally.

“You assume I’m talking about you,” the Ox King guffawed, “I could well be addressing Bulma, eh your highness? This boy here managed to get about this evening, only the prettiest princesses, right lad?”

Bulma and Vegeta coloured and opened their mouths to defend themselves but the Ox King was too amused by his own joke and paid them no mind.

“It’s all right, it’s all right, it’s a silly custom anyway!” he asserted warmly, giving Bulma a fatherly squeeze before putting his gigantic arm around Vegeta, and bringing his mouth low to the Saiyan’s ear, “but if you ever risk embarrassing or upsetting my baby girl ever again I will personally see that you are gutted like a fish and left in the street as food for stray dogs, am I understood, boy?”

Speechless, and certain that the ladies hadn’t heard the Ox King’s words, Vegeta nodded sharply.

“Wonderful!” the crowned bear released him and clapped his hands. “Now, you’ll be happy to know that they’ve just opened the buffet.”

“That’s not due until quarter to the hour,” Chi-Chi began, critically, “and don’t call the sideboard a buffet."

“I’m the king and I’m hungry, so the buffet is open,” he shrugged, grinning widely, “and don’t look at me like that, d’you expect a man to get engaged on an empty stomach?”

The Ox King smacked his confused and uncomfortable future son-in-law on the back; Chi-Chi made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, and allowed her father to lead their party towards the refreshments.

* * *

Vegeta was completely out of his depth, and painfully aware of the fact. Social gatherings had never been a comfortable place for him, beyond those very intimate familial gatherings to which he had grown accustomed, and large formal events had been the bane of his formative years. Part of the reason he had jumped at the chance to finally join Freeza’s military in a practical capacity had stemmed from his desire to extricate himself from the complications of living at court, and now to be so fully thrust back into it with barely a few days warning was beginning to grate.

Freeza had never discussed marriage with him, and he’d allowed himself to think that it was a problem for the far flung future, if it ever came up at all. He was content by himself, and had never sought a partner. On those scant occasions he’d allowed his guard down long enough to admit a woman, it was never for longer than an evening, and often after a great deal of persuading on her part. He had never actively pursued a woman, never wooed or courted, never gone out of his way to gain a woman’s favour, though that had not prevented him from enjoying their company in appropriate situations. 

The informality of an encampment of soldiers had its way of bringing down his walls and allowing a certain amount of freedom, but the pomp and affectation of a ballroom served only to raise them higher. He stood straight with his shoulders back, chin raised with self-importance, nodded, smiled and played the part that he knew he had to, but internally he just wanted to run away like a frightened child. He fretted that someone would notice how paper thin his act was, would call him out on his fakery, that his fiance would be disgusted if she realised. He wanted to be back in his camp, planning the next move with his generals, wincing as he swallowed the soldiers contraband moonshine, maybe catching the eye of some redheaded lieutenant if he was lucky. He didn’t want to be paraded around like some sort of prized pig.

Princess Chi-Chi seemed serene throughout, unperturbed by the stares and whispers as they moved about the ballroom, ferried by their fathers from group to group as they performed their roles. He found himself looking at her, trying to glean some of her calmness. She was indeed as beautiful as the reports had claimed, and with grace and elegance to match. He supposed she was more accustomed to it, having been trained for court from infancy, and he wondered for a moment if she detested it as much as he did. She’d certainly been less than glowing about courtly protocol during their brief conversation while dancing.

“_Vegeta!_” Freeza snapped, as if he’d been trying to get his attention for some time.

“Hm?” he attended, a little lost.

“I _said_ it’s time to say goodnight to our gracious hosts,” Freeza growled with thinly disguised anger. Tarble stood a foot or so behind him, tired and resigned.

“Did you? I ...that is, I did not…”

“Oh don’t be so hard on the boy!” Ox King boomed, smacking Freeza on the back with a joviality that left the tiny emperor openly glowering. “He was distracted looking at my beautiful girl, isn’t that right, son?”

Vegeta blushed hard, realising that he had been staring at Chi-Chi, though not for the reason asserted, but had no words to defend himself. Chi-Chi patted his arm reassuringly, her touch that evening having been the one constant and becoming comfortingly familiar.

“The hour grows late,” Chi-Chi pointed out to her father.

“But the party is just getting started,” the great man insisted, but a look from his daughter quelled him. “Oh alright, I suppose it is past midnight.”

“And we have the confirmation breakfast in nine hours,” she continued.

“Alright, alright,” the king said, defeated. “Lord Freeza, it has been a great honour getting to know you this evening, and your sons are fine young men.”

“Yes, I’m prodigiously proud of my dear sons,” the emperor agreed, having valiantly regained his temper, “and your daughter is elegance personified; she will be an incredible queen, and a credit to you, your majesty.”

“Oh that she is!” he beamed.

“Son?” Freeza hinted quietly. 

Vegeta looked up in confusion, but a quick glance at his brother, who was miming taking his leave, caught him up. He relaxed his arm, relinquishing Chi-Chi’s hand.

“Your highness, thank you for receiving us with such fine hospitality. I wish you a good night,” he bowed.

“It has been my pleasure to enjoy your attendance, your highness,” she replied with a curtsey.

“These kids!” Ox King bellowed. “You’re getting married, you’d think they were joining the clergy!”

“Father,” Chi-Chi warned.

“Thank you for the wonderful party, it was a welcome fit for, well, an emperor,” Freeza chuckled behind his hand.

“It wasn’t a bad shindig, you’re right. But that’s all my girl, she organised this.”

“Then may I congratulate your highness on a job well executed,” Freeza nodded to her, and she gave a small curtsey in return. “Now, I guarantee my sons are tuckered out after such a long day of travel and society, and I’d better get them to bed.”

Vegeta considered for a moment pointing out that he was in fact a grown man of nearly thirty years, but thought better of it when he saw the steely look in his ‘father’s’ eye. After a protracted series of flowery farewells they parted, and Freeza exited the ballroom with both of his Saiyans in a ceremonious manner, the courtiers bowing to them as they left.

“Thank the gods that’s over-” Vegeta started, but was cut off.

“Not. One. Word,” Freeza hissed, ice cold fury lacing his tone. Vegeta was silenced.

The traversed the halls wordlessly, guided by a mute servant who led them through the beautifully appointed corridors to the esteemed guest apartments. Vegeta tried to catch Tarble’s eye, but the younger man wouldn’t look at him.

“Thank you,” Freeza said to the servant before the man could open the door to their rooms, “we will call you if further assistance is required.”

The servant bowed and retreated, and Tarble silently stepped forward to open the door in his place. Vegeta and Freeza filed on through, Tarble quietly latching the door shut behind them.

“Father-”

“Sit!” Freeza snapped at Vegeta, pointing to a couch in the middle of the reception room. Vegeta took a seat immediately. “And you, Tarble. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you!”

The Saiyans sat, feeling more like little boys about to receive a thrashing than young men in the prime of their adulthood.

“So,” Freeza began, pacing back and forth in front of them before speaking, “do you think you can explain to me what the _hell_ you think you were doing?!”

“Me?” Vegeta asked quietly.

“Yes, you!” Freeza snapped, glaring at him.

Vegeta was silent.

“Of all the hare-brained, selfish, irresponsible, _ungrateful-_!” Freeza spluttered, rage choking the end of his sentence. “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to set up this marriage?”

Tarble shifted slightly in his seat, his face momentarily betraying his emotion.

“And you!” Freeza turned on him, the micro-expression not lost on him. “You were meant to be watching him! How could you let him just run off like that? You _know_ he can’t be trusted!”

“Hang on,” Vegeta cut in, “it’s hardly Tarble’s fault-”

“Shut your mouth! I don’t want to hear a word out of either of you!” Freeza shut him down, gesturing emphatically with his perfectly manicured hands. “I am beyond disappointed in the both of you. If it weren’t for Vegeta’s future prospects I wouldn’t be surprised if the Ox King had called the wedding off immediately. You offended our hosts and endangered this betrothal, just because you saw a chance to get your leg over-”

“It wasn’t like that-!”

“Didn’t I tell you to hold your tongue?!”

Vegeta bit his lip.

“Tomorrow you are going to the confirmation breakfast, you are going to be polite and pretty and you are going to do your damned duty. Answer to indicate you understand me, boy.”

“...Yes, father.”

“And you,” he turned on Tarble, whose face was now a marble mask, unreadable and emotionless. “You will not let him out of your sight, and you will prevent any more gaffs like the one this evening. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, father. I apologise for my lapse in duty,” he said in a monotone.

“Now go to bed, both of you,” Freeza dismissed them angrily with a wave of his little hand. “And straight to sleep. I have to meet with Berryblue before I may retire, so I will know if you aren’t sleeping.”

“Yes father,” they mumbled together, and rose as one to flee to the relative safety of their rooms.

“You’re both damned lucky I haven’t had your throats cut in your sleep,” was their father’s parting words to them as they disappeared behind separate doors.

* * *

Vegeta awoke to a sharp knock and his bedroom door swinging open.

“Get up,” Tarble snapped, stalking into the room and straight to his brother’s closet. He began pulling out garments.

“What time is it?” Vegeta mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He could see his brother was mostly dressed already in an outfit that was eerily reminiscent of Freeza’s style.

“Time for you to get out of bed and put this on,” the younger man ordered, tossing a sleeveless, lightly embroidered doublet and soft silk shirt across his legs.

“Where’s the man?” Vegeta asked as he sat up, referring to the valet.

“Not here yet.”

“Seriously, what time is it?”

“Time you just did as you were told for once!” Tarble growled, thrusting the matching breeches into his brother’s hands.

“Your highnesses?” a voice queried meekly from the shared living space beyond Vegeta’s bedroom door. “I see you have begun your preparations without me, might I be of service?”

“Get in here and dress my fool brother,” Tarble ordered the valet, selecting a pair of soft leather boots and tossing them on the bed.

“I can do it myself,” Vegeta grumbled, swinging his legs out of bed. “What’s got your goat this morning, Tarble?”

“Gods, you just do not care about anything, do you?”

“What are you talking about? Is this because of what Freeza said?”

“Just - ugh, never mind. Get dressed, you’ve got ten minutes,” Tarble waved the valet in. “Do something about his hair will you? And make him look less tired.”

“I don’t look tired-”

“Oh, and don’t let him swap out any of the attire I’ve picked for him,” Tarble ordered on his way out of the room.

The door shut behind him and Vegeta was left, stood in his night clothes, opposite a very nervous looking valet. Vegeta picked up the doublet and looked it over critically.

“You know I out rank him,” Vegeta said flatly to the valet.

“I have a lovely citrus ointment that will clear up that early morning puffiness…” the man replied evasively.

“Ugh, fine. Just wait outside while I dress myself.”

“But the clothes-”

“I’ll wear these!”

“Very good, your highness,” the valet bowed and scurried from the room.

* * *

Tarble put down the comb, checking his hair for irregularities, and satisfied that his oils had done their work he recapped the little bottle and washed his hands in the basin. He didn’t have a lot to work with, being short and slim as he was, and though he shared Vegeta’s facial features they were not as ruggedly set in his thin face as they were in Vegeta’s. He was handsome in his own way, not that many women gave him enough time to notice that, but there were times when he could have made better use of his brother’s imposing presence. At least, he thought with a bitter smile, having him around made Vegeta seem so much taller than he was.

Tarble heard a noise in the sitting room and opened his door suspiciously. The valet was tidying.

“What are you doing?” Tarble demanded.

“His highness requested privacy whilst he robed himself,” the valet responded with a bow.

“I asked _you _to do that!”

“I can only do so much, your highness.”

Vegeta’s door was wrenched open as Vegeta himself came striding in, one hand awkwardly behind his back.

“Fine, you can help me with these blasted buttons,” the elder prince conceded, heading straight for the beleaguered valet.

“At least you’re wearing the clothes I chose for you,” Tarble muttered.

“It could have been worse,” Vegeta shrugged, making the valet frown as the buttons shifted under his fingers. “I was worried for a second you were going to dress me up like Freeza.”

“‘Father’,” Tarble corrected stiffly, glancing at the valet.

“Whatever.”

Tarble threw himself down onto the couch, glaring at the clock on the mantle.

“Are you going to be like this all day?”

“I just want to get to breakfast.”

“So yes, then.”

“Get all this shit-talking out of your system now, brother. Father will not tolerate another gaff from you.”

“Look, what happened last night was not what I intended, and I never meant to involve you in it,” Vegeta tried to cajole his brother, but the impact was somewhat marred by the valet rubbing lemon scented creams into his face. “I’ll speak to father, make him understand-”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Tarble replied firmly.

“But why? It isn’t fair that you came in for a share of my reprimand.”

“I have one job, and one job only,” Tarble asserted, “to serve the interests of this family. Right now that means making sure this marriage happens.”

“It’s a done deal,” Vegeta assured him, “she seemed to think so anyway.”

“You just don’t get it,” Tarble sighed. “There are a million and one things that could go wrong, and if you offend the wrong person then that can plummet our interests in the negotiations. It’s not simply a matter of you wed her, bed her and life goes on, we have nations to join, and how we do that will be vastly important to the empire. If we give the impression that we don’t respect their customs or traditions then we run the risk of appearing like untrustworthy allies, and we need them to trust us if we’re going to make this alliance mutually profitable.”

“The alliance between Princess Chi-Chi and I, or an alliance between our empires?”

“The one begets the other, obviously.”

“Yes, yes…” Vegeta winced as his hair was brushed. “I get it.”

“You won’t have to endure this much longer,” Tarble muttered, “just a few months of bowing, get her pregnant to seal the deal and then you can go back to commanding battalions at your leisure. I remain, as always, to keep things ticking along.”

“Tarble…” Vegeta said, looking uncomfortably at the valet.

“Of course, everyone is allowed to speak freely bar me,” the tiny man spat, standing quickly. “Right, you look done to me, let’s get on.”

The valet bowed, assuming his dismissal. He held the door open for the two princes as the three exited the apartment, the royalty headed for the family breakfast room.

“You’ll be fine,” Tarble sighed as soon as the valet was out of ear-shot. “You can do this, just don’t go off-script again, alright?”

“Okay, I …” Vegeta bit his lip. “Last night was a regrettable miscalculation on my part.”

“You could just say that you’re sorry.”

“If I could do that, why would I need you?” he pointed out.

Tarble smiled wryly. “Touche, you utter jackass.”

They proceeded to insult each other colourfully, and Vegeta reflected privately on the mutually collaborative yet competitive nature of brotherhood.


	9. Chapter 9

“Ah, my dear sons,” Lord Freeza drawled as the princes entered the breakfast room. “How nice of you two to finally join us.”

The little emperor sat at one end of an oval, walnut table, already tastefully laid, a seat over from the Ox King and Princess Chi-Chi, with whom he’d apparently been engaged in conversation. The Ox King was bright and cheery, and showed no sign that he’d been dancing and drinking the previous night away. Chi-Chi was fresh faced but less vibrant than her father, though still quietly elegant. They were sipping tea from delicate china cups; warm toast was cooling on a wire rack in the centre of the table, neighbouring the steaming teapot. Servants lined the back wall, silently watching their masters.

“We’re not a second later than the time you prescribed, father,” Vegeta replied with a frown, earning a dig in the ribs from his brother, unseen by the others.

“I suppose you two had a rather late night,” the emperor said, though his raised eyebrow suggested he felt less charitably.

“Later nights and earlier starts on the battlefield,” Vegeta grunted.

“It was a very fine party,” Tarble cut in quickly before Freeza could retort, “I would happily have enjoyed your majesty’s hospitable welcome until the sunrise.”

“It was a bloody good bash,” the Ox King agreed, looking proudly at his daughter.

“I think it was as long as it needed to be, and at least one of our esteemed guests I think agrees with me,” Chi-Chi replied, surprisingly playfully.

“I think that,” Vegeta said slowly, one eye on his brother’s expression, “the ball was ...very nice.”

Tarble’s polite smile remained fixed, but Vegeta could see the clenching of his jaw.

“Come lads,” the Ox King laughed, unfazed by Vegeta’s lack of charisma, “take a seat. You can’t just hover around the doorway all morning.”

“Of course,” Tarble stepped to it, tossing a warning glare at Vegeta. If he felt he were permitted to, Vegeta might have sighed, lamenting the fact that Tarble was just not fun when they were in company, especially in company with their father. They approached the table.

“Hoy, come here lad,” Ox King demanded of Tarble, motioning to the empty seat between him and Freeza. “I didn’t get to speak to you much last night.”

“Your majesty was much engaged with dancing,” Tarble smiled, taking the seat with a modicum of confusion.

“Well it was abominable of me to neglect one of my honoured guests,” he slapped a huge hand onto the tiny man’s shoulder. “Will you forgive a doting father for his distraction?”

“It’s hardly a matter requiring forgiveness, your majesty,” Tarble smiled compliantly, “with such a swift introduction a man needs to have good priorities.”

“Quite, and as we’re all new to each other we ought to seat ourselves so that we can best improve our familiarity!”

They both looked at Vegeta, who was still dithering between sitting next to Freeza or Princess Chi-Chi.

“I think,” Lord Freeza said with a gentle eye roll, “that our esteemed host is hinting that you would benefit from sitting with our new acquaintance.”

Vegeta looked to the chair indicated, and urged on by a gentle nod from Chi-Chi, sat down next to her. He moved quickly, not gracefully, and was already beginning to blush.

“He’s a military man,” Ox King asserted sagely, “he prefers plain speaking, don’t you, boy?”

“I confess, I’m not a man of words,” Vegeta replied carefully, conscious of both his brother  _ and _ his father now watching him appraisingly, Tarble preparing to smooth over any mistakes, Freeza to resent them.

“Chi-Chi will find that a refreshing change,” the big man laughed, “right girl?”

“My father is known for being tremendously verbose,” she smirked, looking at Vegeta. He again blushed, not sure how to respond.

“Prince Vegeta was clearly not prepared for what you’re like in private,” the Ox King guffawed. “Mark me, she’s a little demon when the courtiers aren’t about to listen.”

“My father has only one face, and he shows it to everyone,” she retorted, sipping her tea.

“She’s saying I’ve got no manners!” he said to Tarble, nudging him like an old friend. “She’s always like this, just because I can’t be doing with all that court nonsense.”

“I don’t know what your majesty wants me to say here,” Tarble laughed nervously.

“And you can stop with that ‘your majesty’ stuff, around this table we are all equals,” he paused, taking their momentary silence for assent. “And we’re all hungry, too. Why don’t we serve up?”

“Not until everyone is here, you know better,” Chi-Chi snapped.

“She’s late, be fair Chi-Chi.”

“Just because we’re in the family room, that’s no excuse for-”

The door opened, and a woman rushed into the room. She was sensibly dressed for a family breakfast, but she looked a touch ashen faced, and a careful observer would see that her carefully and tightly plaited hair was still slightly damp from washing.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Bulma apologised, trying to hide her laboured breathing.

“-Well never mind, Bulma’s here now,” Chi-Chi said, ignoring her father’s huge grin.

“Late night, was it?” the huge man cajolled. “You girls up into the wee hours talking about balls?”

“Father,” Chi-Chi hissed.

“The party!” he feigned innocence.

“I wish it were so,” Bulma admitted sheepishly, “but I’m afraid that I simply overslept.”

“And yet you look as pretty as a daisy,” he smiled.

“Thank you, but the credit is all to my maid. Remind me to raise that woman’s pay.”

Her playful smile faded momentarily as her eyes met Vegeta’s. There was a chill moment as she spied the only empty seat, between Vegeta and Freeza.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Not at all, your highness,” Lord Freeza smiled lazily, “my boys have only just gotten here themselves.”

“We weren’t late, though,” Vegeta said. Tarble shook his head fractionally, a warning.

“Again, I apologise,” Bulma said flatly, glaring at him and walking around to her seat.

“Less apologising, more eating!” Ox King bellowed. “I danced off everything I ate last night and I am famished! Lets get some food out here!”

“Oh, daddy,” Chi-Chi whispered to herself.

Vegeta grunted slightly as something hard and sharp connected with his knee. He glanced over to Freeza, who had kicked him hard with his smart little boots, and was now slightly nodding his head towards the Princess Bulma. She was hovering behind the emperor’s chair, her lips pursed.

“Oh,” Vegeta stood up suddenly, remembering the distant etiquette lessons of his boyhood. He wasn’t used to this custom but the courtesies, at least if Freeza’s expression was anything to go by, needed to be observed. Vegeta pulled out her chair.

“Thank you,” she said, taking her seat a little stiffly.

“Not many women on your campaigns, eh boy?” the Ox King laughed. Vegeta spied Freeza from the corner of his eye glowering at them both.

“None that meet my rank,” Vegeta admitted, “and the women one does meet in war tend to model self sufficiency as a rule.”

“How admirable of them,” Bulma remarked coldly. “Do you often bring the subject of blood and battle to the breakfast table?”

“Your highness,” Tarble interrupted quickly, “I’m given to understand you are the patron of the university here at the capitol?”

“Oh, uh, yes, one of them,” she answered, taken off guard by the subject change. The servants had begun to filter the food in from the moment she’d taken her seat, placing a variety of dishes in the centre of the table to which the guests were free to help themselves. “I’m the head patron for the Fire Mountain University of Arcane Arts.”

“And I’m told you teach there too?”

“On and off, when my dear Princess Chi-Chi can spare me,” she smiled warmly at her friend.

“Did I not issue a royal decree that titles were to be dropped?” the Ox King grunted, reaching for a soft yeasted dough roll.

“Not while Bulma was here, father,” Chi-Chi pointed out, taking the dough roll from his hands and handing him a small platter of quail eggs. “Remember daddy, your heart.”

“But - agh why did you have to turn out so much like your mother?”

Chi-Chi smiled and bit into the stolen roll, revealing the delicately spiced fruit inside.

“May I call you Bulma, my lady?” Tarble asked.

“Of course, we’re all going to be practically family anyway,” Bulma smiled.

“Yup, these two have been inseparable since they were weans,” the Ox King confirmed, transferring a handful of linked sausages to his plate with surprising stealth. “Bulma’s lived with us since she came of age, advising my girl - and me sometimes. Bulma knows more about magic than any of the lecturers at that university, and magitech, and trade and all sorts. Lord, she designed half the magitech weapons in my army - and our ships.”

“With my teams,” Bulma smiled modestly, buttering toast.

“A valuable companion,” Freeza said languidly, amused at the novelty of putting food on his own plate. He selected a terrine of jellied liver and some pickled vegetables, seemingly at random.

“Is that the same university I’ll be attending?” Vegeta asked, spooning some sort of preserved fruit onto a warm flatbread. He wanted the sausages, but they were too far away and he wasn’t brave enough to reach across the table with Tarble and Freeza watching him. He also picked up a strip of sweet spiced bark.

“It is,” Chi-Chi smiled, removing the sausage links from the Ox King’s plate as he groaned quietly, “they’re very excited to have such an illustrious student.”

“As Freeza’s wards our magic education was comprehensive,” Tarble said, seeing a muscle tighten in Freeza’s cheek, “but magic is so much more widespread on this continent, so we’re very excited to see what we can learn from each other in this field.”

“Vegeta was never as astute with his studies as Tarble was,” Freeza said, looking sideways at his eldest son. “I agree that some tutelage might be beneficial.”

“There never seemed to be much to learn,” Vegeta grumbled. “I point my hands and the enemy falls over. It’s Tarble’s magic that required study.”

“Oh, so you have force magic?” Bulma asked with interest.

“Yes, from my mother’s side.”

“It’s a much underappreciated school of magic,” she continued, putting down her toast as she talked. “Too many professors of magic, even ones in our own university, disparage it simply because its effects are inherently physical and uncreative in nature, but there are so many applications for force magic. In fact, when properly trained a force mage can tap into all  _ kinds _ of other magics, because as you know force magic is an  _ inherent _ magic, not a learned one. That’s actually probably why so many who study the art are so aligned against force magic, because you can’t be taught it, you have to be born with it.”

“Is the same prejudice true for soul magic?” Tarble asked politely. “That’s inherent, right?”

“It is, but it’s far rarer and its applications more immediately nuanced to the average scholar,” Bulma informed him, holding out her hand with a spoon balanced on her finger tips. “I was born with force magic, which I’ve been refining for many years with what I’ve been calling kinetic techniques.”

The spoon lifted, and began to turn in the air. She smiled at it fondly.

“Most people think force magic is for blasting through obstacles, but it can be  _ so much more _ ,” she breathed lovingly.

“Perhaps my friend might use her magic to put the spoon in her mouth?” Chi-Chi suggested. “Preferably with some food on it.”

“Oh,” Bulma put the spoon down, slightly embarrassed. Vegeta felt her discomfort and looked away awkwardly.

“No offence intended, my dearest love,” Chi-Chi apologised, “but you know how enthusiastic you get about your art, and with the week we have ahead of us it’s important that you eat.”

“Of course,” she murmured, reaching for the buttered eel.

“But it does put me in mind of something,” Chi-Chi mused. “Why on Earth would I allow my new husband’s extensive talents to be molded by tutors who don’t value them as they should?”

Bulma’s eyes shot up to meet Chi-Chi’s, a silent plea not missed by Vegeta, who was similarly alarmed by the direction the conversation had taken.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier,” Chi-Chi laughed, patting her father’s arm and looking warmly at her friend. “You know so much about force magic and cross disciplines, who could possibly make a better teacher for him?”

“I don’t - that is I haven’t taught for - my lectures are usually to post-graduates and are somewhat -” Bulma stammered.

“Yes, of course,” the Ox King joined in, “Bulma can tutor him!”

“I’m sure her highness is far too busy with all those other duties you mentioned-” Vegeta tried to object.

“A splendid idea!” Freeza agreed, cutting off his son. “What better way to bring this family even closer together.”

“We did have a planned course of joint research,” Tarble said with a slight edge to his voice, “but that can always wait if Princess Bulma is going to be busy training my brother.”

“Um, I can talk to my colleagues, find you a suitable partner to work with,” she said apologetically.

“I thank you,” Tarble nodded politely, picking apart his yeasted bun. His face was like cold marble again.

“Well that’s settled then,” Vegeta muttered, spearing a piece of spiced bark on his fork.

“Your highness, I wouldn’t-” Bulma tried to stop him. Irritated by her interference he tore off a bite.

He chewed once, twice, and then paused. His eyes watered; he tried to stifle a cough.

“That bark isn’t supposed to be eaten by itself,” Bulma said as his cheeks grew red, “it’s strongly spiced, you’re meant to stir it through your chutney to impart the desired level of flavour.”

“Quite literally biting off more than you can chew, my son?” Freeza sneered. “You, boy, pour my son some water.”

“No don’t worry Thomas, I’ve got it,” Bulma said, waving away the waiter and getting to her feet. “You don’t want water, that’ll just make it worse. The chilli used causes an alkaline burn, and you need acid to neutralise it. Here, drink this.”

She handed him a mug of citric smelling fruit juice. He could see Freeza’s eyes slightly narrowed at her, and he glared at her himself for a few seconds before taking the mug and pouring it down his throat.

“Let the juices coat your mouth for a few seconds before swallowing.”

He glowered, but did as she advised. 

“Thank you,” he coughed, though his tone was flat. As the burning sensation in his mouth dissipated he felt somehow even more cross with her. She was in every way infuriating; openly contradicting Freeza, being so easy with the servants, giving him orders like she was his governess, everything about her conduct irritated him.

“Bulma is the second daughter of King Briefs, of the Spice Kingdom’s Brief Dynasty,” the Ox King informed him with a huge grin. “You can add to the list of her accomplishments, an exhaustive knowledge of spices and their properties.”

Bulma sat down, not entirely unconscious of the cold look that Freeza had been giving her.

“You still reckon our women don’t ‘model self-sufficiency’?” the Ox King laughed.

Tarble was glancing at each of the offending individuals in turn, his expression carefully curated. Vegeta was still sipping his juice, pushing the remaining spicy bark to the edge of his plate, while Bulma had begun to poke disinterestedly at her food. Freeza was sipping tea in an effort to disguise his annoyance. Chi-Chi shook her head, her cheeks flushing a little bit in sympathy for the parties involved, and quietly removed a slab of smoked bacon from her father’s plate.

“Eat up, boys,” the Ox King ordered. “I want a gander at your swordsmanship this morning, can’t fight on an empty stomach.”

“Not I, your majesty,” Tarble objected, “I’m afraid my talents are exclusively cerebral.”

“I haven’t handled a sword myself in many a year,” Freeza added, eyebrow raised. “However I’ve every confidence that my eldest will not disappoint you.”

“Wa-hah! Is that so, boy?”

“If you’re asking for a spar I’d be more than happy to,” Vegeta said, a genuine smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Will you go easy on this old man?”

“Not on your life.”

“That’s the spirit!” the Ox King guffawed, thrusting his fork where his bacon had previously been, and spearing a piece of fruit instead. “Chi-Chi, what the-”

“I would enjoy a display of your martial abilities,” the princess confirmed enthusiastically. “Bulma, will you join us?”

“You’ll have to excuse me, I’m needed in the workshop.”

“Chi-Chi, I mean it, give me back my bacon-”

“So that’s decided!” Freeza clapped his little hands, delighted. “A spot of exercise before we make the big announcement, no?”

“Wonderful,” Chi-Chi agreed. “I would find that most stimulating.”

“Hurry up and eat, boys. You’re keeping the Ox King waiting.”

Chi-Chi beamed at her father, her eyes sparkling. The Ox King sighed and took a bite out of his fruit.

******************************

At Fire City’s Western gate, a young city guard leaned against the battlements on the outer walls, blowing out his cheeks in boredom. He’d been waiting upwards of an hour for the arrival of the monks, but as yet there’d been no sign of them. The Western side of Fire Castle was famously well defended, with clear views from the North-West to South, but there was only so long a man could stare at a horizon looking for dots to distinguish from other dots. Closer to the city walls were the sprawling farms and habitations of the peasantry that didn’t fit within the city limits, but upon whose labour Fire City, and therefore Fire Castle, depended. To the North the mountain loomed, but North-West of that Paozu Mountain could be distantly glimpsed. He assumed they’d be taking the North West Way, the long winding road that connected the Eastern capitol to the Northlands and Paozu Forest, hitting all the major cities along its route. He had no idea what they looked like however, and trying to discern monks from peasants at this distance was impossibly tedious, and left him wondering what he’d done to offend his superiors so that he’d been given this job.

“Soldier!” a voice, smooth and easy, cut through the haze of his boredom and sparked him to attention.

“Captain Goku!” the young man, startled, stood to attention with a reddening face.

“Anything to report?”

Captain Goku, the highest ranked officer of the royal family’s personal guard, was directly behind him. He’d moved utterly silently. How long, the soldier wondered nervously, had he been watching him?

“N-nothing, sir!” he stammered.

“Are you sure about that?” Captain Goku asked, stepping past him to peer out over the battlements. He was long limbed, and had a confident, easy gait. He moved quietly in his partial plate armour, and had an ever present smile on his young, handsome face. The city guard knew him to be only a couple of years his senior, but their relative positions could hardly have been further apart. “I think you must have been napping soldier, I can see them from here.”

“W-what?” the guard turned sharply, trying to follow Captain Goku’s eyeline.

“See? Right ...there. Just past that rock formation. Orange robes.”

“I ...oh! Yes! I do!” the soldier exclaimed, then, blushing further he ducked into a hasty bow. “Forgive me, Captain! I neglected my duty-!”

“Oh, pshaw,” Goku laughed, waving away the guard’s apology. “I’m not your captain, I’m not gonna write you up.”

“Thank you, lord,” the city guard effused.

“That being said,” he continued, “I wouldn’t let your garrison commanders see you slacking off like that. I hear they can be real stiff.”

“Haha, that is, uh, certainly a way to describe it.”

“I’ve come to greet the monks myself,” Goku went on to explain. “Gotta lotta history with ‘em. You can go tell your boss that the Captain of the Royal Guard relieved you.”

“Thank you, lord.”

“And don’t call me lord, okay? I’m just another soldier.”

“But ...aren’t you…?”

“You can call me ‘sir’ if you want to, that goes with the job, but no-one’s calling me lord just because I happen to come from one family rather than another, got it?”

“Of course, lo- sir.”

The city guard saluted and marched away, fleeing as fast as he could without breaking into a run. Goku shook his head, smiling. City Guards were not quite civilians and not quite soldiers, and almost always local boys; he reasoned it was their proximity to Fire Castle that imbued them all with a healthy respect of rank and authority. He turned back to monitor the North West Way, where old Master Roshi was making his way towards the city, with his apprentice by his side. They drove a small cart, pulled by two steady old mares; it would take them some time to make it to the city gate.

“Ah well, it’s a lovely day for a stroll,” he said aloud to himself, and trotted down the stairs and out of the gates.

****************************

“How long has it been, Goku?” Krillin, proudly wearing the robes of a travelling apprentice, asked his old friend. They were walking side by side next to the cart, their easy postures and happy smiles illustrative of their joy in reuniting.

“Gosh, it’s been at least, what, ten years?” Goku answered, finger to his lips.

“Thirteen,” Roshi corrected from the driver’s seat of the cart.

“Thirteen years since I left the mountain!” Goku put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Man, but those were the days, weren’t they? Just us three, a whole mountain to explore, full of trees and monkeys, and-”

“And a temple full of chores to ignore,” Roshi added with a smile.

“Ah yeah, there was that,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey Krillin, you don’t seem to have grown in the slightest. Did Old Man Roshi stop feeding you after I left?”

Krillin frowned playfully at his old friend, though he had to crane his neck slightly to do it.

“Oh you’re not offended are you?”

“Goku, if I got offended by every person who commented on my height I wouldn’t have energy left to sweep the temple steps every evening.”

“He’s still got you doing the grunt work, huh?” Goku commiserated with a grin.

“Not like you ever did any.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!”

“Isn’t it?” Roshi chimed in. “You were by far and away the laziest novice I ever had to teach.”

“What?!” Goku threw his hands in the air in protest. “And here I am, running to meet you-”

“Walking.”

“-Walking to meet you from the city gates and this is the welcome I get?”

“Well tell me this, Captain Goku,” the old man leaned over the edge of his little cart with arched brows, “where’s the lie?”

Goku was silent for a moment, staring back at his old master with a sullen pout, before bursting out into raucous laughter.

“Man, you’re right, I shirked my chores every chance I got!”

“Good fighter though,” Roshi conceded. “I can see how you ended up in the royal guard.”

“Yeah, no-one asked me to clean up turtle doo-doo or clean any dishes when I joined the guard. Just polish my sword and shine my armour, and if I ask nicely I can get Bulma’s staff to do that. I was never suited to a monk’s life, but not gonna lie, you guys: sometimes I miss the freedom.”

“There was never any freedom, you just ignored all of your tasks and did whatever you fancied.”

“I mean… I did scare away that ape one time.”

“The ape that chased you back to the temple when you were meant to be collecting wood? Is there a lot of good firewood in ape nests, Goku?”

“Oh hey, look,” Goku said quickly, pointing at the gates. “We’re here.”

“Thank the gods you’re here to tell me, because my old eyes couldn’t make out the huge looming stone walls of the ancient mountain city that we’ve been travelling for days to reach.”

“Damn, you haven’t changed a bit old man,” Goku chuckled, waving to the city guards as they passed through. “The years haven’t softened you at all.”

“They’ve been kind to you, though,” Roshi smiled. “You’re grown tall, and strong.”

“Aye, he’s grown in everything but good sense,” Krillin laughed.

“Watch it, we’ve still a long walk to the castle, old friend,” Goku joked.

“Ah yes, the castle. Had any issues with your precious charge?”

“Nah, she’s keeping her chin up. It’s hard for her, with the marriage and everything coming up, but she’s just being herself, strong, you know? She’s under so much pressure but she just keeps going, organising everything, nothing fazes her. I couldn’t swap places with her, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“I wasn’t asking about Princess Chi-Chi,” Master Roshi said, and Goku coloured. “I meant the Dragonball”

“We’re not supposed to talk about that,” Goku said uncomfortably, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“Given our own custodial duties I think it’s fair of me to ask about the status of one of the most powerful artifacts known to mankind.”

“It’s fine, safe, under lock and key in the safest place in Fire Castle,” Goku assured him hurriedly, “I have my best man on it.”

“Who’s that?”

“Lieutenant Yamcha. Solid guy, loyal, and not the type to think about nicking something.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“So this wedding we’ve come to officiate,” Krillin asked, clocking Goku’s red cheeks and downturned eyes and attributing it to the talk of the Dragonball, “it’s come around a bit suddenly. Haven’t they only just met?”

“You know how it works with royalty,” Goku shrugged, maintaining his jovial demeanour with some effort. “Your ma and da work it all out in secret with  _ their  _ ma and da and then you get told who you’re marrying. Everyone else gets told the next day, then you get married. It is what it is.”

“Prince Vegeta, man, I never thought I’d see that little shit again.”

“What was he like?” Goku asked, pretending not to be interested.

“Him?” Krillin pursed his lips, frowning. “Cocky. And rude. And very quick to get violent.”

“Be fair, Krillin,” the old man stretched, having surrendered the reins to Goku as they weaved the cart through the busy city streets, “he was young and scared, and a pampered little shit to boot. It’s not like we saw his best self.”

“I’m not sure he has a best self.”

“Krillin.”

“You heard about the stink he kicked up at the temple of the Lynx?” Krillin continued.

“Yes, regrettable, but that’s all in the past now.”

“Don’t you wish you could have met him?” Krillin asked Goku. “He might have told you who you were, who your parents were.”

“Nah,” Goku decided after a moment’s thought. “Whoever my parents were they left me in Paozu Forest to die, and whoever I  _ was  _ doesn’t matter more than who I  _ am _ . I like the name Master Gohan gave me, rest his soul.”

“He was fond of you, and very sorry to have to hand you over to me when his health failed him.”

“Yeah well, them’s the breaks, right?” Goku laughed, though it wasn’t without effort. “We’ll head up this way to the castle.”

******************************

“Fuck!” the Ox King yelled as Vegeta’s training blade whistled past his nose again. “You’re a whippy little bastard, gotta give you that.”

Vegeta made no reply, but threw himself into the momentum of the weighted wood of his weapon, spinning to come at the Ox King again with a slice.

“Not a chance!” the bigger man parried, the strength of him throwing Vegeta momentarily off balance. “You’re fast and strong, and you’ve got experience, but I’ve been fighting real battles since before you were born, my lad.”

He hulked over Vegeta, his superior size and immense strength keeping Vegeta from landing the winning strike, but he was panting hard. Vegeta looked at his blunt wooden sword, and the much larger one hefted by the Ox King. He’d been caught a couple of times already by the older man and didn’t want to admit that he could feel bruises under his jerkin. Vegeta darted forward.

“Bad idea!” the Ox King laughed darkly, stepping in to Vegeta’s strike with the fullest intention of grappling, but at the last second Vegeta rolled to the side, dropping his sword and grabbing the king’s arm, pulling him over his stride. The Ox King stumbled forwards and Vegeta twisted himself so that he could launch himself onto the bigger man’s back. He unsheathed the wooden dagger at his belt and thrust it down towards the king’s neck, pulling his blow at the last second.

“Touch,” he declared, tapping the Ox King on the back of the neck with the little wooden blade, then deftly hopping off.

“You little…” the Ox King grumbled, dusting himself off as his future son-in-law helped him to his feet. “Is that how you fight on the battlefield?”

“Only when fighting giants and trolls and such,” Vegeta replied semi-seriously.

“Oh-ho-ho!” the Ox King roared. “You hear this, Chi-Chi? Your man has a mouth on him too!”

“I have observed, father,” she smiled, leaning back against the wooden bench. “It was a good fight. You did well, considering.”

“‘Considering’? ‘Considering’ she says!” the king stalked around the arena, collecting the dropped weapons in his massive ham sized fists. “Considering what? My girth?”

“I was going to say your age.”

“Are you listening to this lot?” the Ox King gasped to Emperor Freeza, who was also sat on the benches, next to a slightly sullen Tarble. “The young have no respect for their elders.”

“One suspects that our host rather prefers it that way,” Freeza replied with a smirk. “I couldn’t imagine my children joking that way with me unless I sanctioned it.”

“Too true, your majesty, too true,” he chuckled, replacing the swords. He turned to Vegeta and smacked him on the shoulder. “You fight well, and with your brain. I like that in a man. Next time we fight it’ll be a wrestling match.”

“I don’t think I would come out so well on that one,” Vegeta said, wincing as the Ox King’s huge paw came down on his shoulder again.

“Oh you’ll find a way, you’re clearly a wily bastard. Freeza, are you sure I can’t tempt you to a round? You’ve been making very astute remarks about Vegeta’s techniques, I would love to see your knowledge in action.”

“No, I thank you,” Freeza waved him away. “I don’t trust my old bones to stand up to one of your parries, though I admit I was considered a very accomplished fencer in my youth.”

“When was your ‘youth’ exactly, your majesty?” the Ox King quipped.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a person their age?” Freeza smiled, but Tarble could see the twitching of his lip.

“Hold up, looks like we have more company,” the Ox King declared, looking past them to the edge of the courtyard where a servant was hurrying towards them.

“Your majesties,” he bowed deeply, “your guests from the holy mountain are ready to see you.”

“Are they with Goku? Lord, just send them over, and tell them to stop being so damned formal.”

“As you command.”

“Father, this courtyard isn’t exactly private, you know,” Chi-Chi chided him uncomfortably as the servant scurried away.

“Really? After all these years you won’t greet your friends in public?” the king asked her incredulously. “Fine, as you will. Oi, you lot! Clear off, you’ve got an hour’s break on the king’s orders! And tell everyone else to leave us in peace - I don’t want to see a single person in this yard until the stroke of twelve.”

The workers who had been busy in the vicinity all looked at each other with wide grins and followed the king’s orders, while Chi-Chi cradled her face in her hands.

“Oh father, what am I going to do with you?” she muttered. Freeza couldn’t help but give her a sympathetic smile.

“So who are we meeting now?” Vegeta asked, a little put out by the unexpected arrivals.

“The monks of Paozu Mountain have sent a small delegation for the wedding, to officiate and bear witness to the royal nuptials,” the Ox King informed him.

“The monks?” Tarble asked, his interest suddenly piqued.

“Yeah, got the old Turtle Master to come down and officiate the wedding,” he turned to Chi-Chi and Vegeta. “That old hermit wedded your mother and I.”

“I know,” she replied, subdued.

“Wait ...Turtle Master?” Vegeta asked, his brow furrowed as he fished through his memories. “You don’t mean…”

“Master Roshi!” Tarble exclaimed, springing to his feet as the small party entered the courtyard.

The two monks in their bright orange robes were easy enough to spot, their bald heads glinting in late morning sunlight, but the man who walked a step in front of them was unmissable; tall, loose limbed and handsome, he had an unassuming yet arresting presence that drew the eye. His shiny half plate was becoming on his broad chest.

“Your majesty,” he bowed as they reached the training area, “may I present to you-”

“Goku, pack that in,” the Ox King ordered almost severely.

“Your majesty, the emperor…” he replied, trying to keep the grin off his face.

“Goku, how long have you known me and our family? Come off it, boy and meet our new family members.”

“What is happening?” Freeza asked in a near-silent hiss to Tarble through a fixed smile.

“Lord Freeza, Prince Vegeta, Prince Tarble, may I introduce you to the captain of the Royal Guard, and my baby girl’s favourite childhood friend, Lord Goku of the Briefs dynasty.”

“Briefs…?” Vegeta narrowed his eyes, and asked Chi-Chi quietly; “Some relation to Princess Bulma?”

“King Briefs’ ward,” she murmured quietly, looking at her own hands demurely. “Bulma, he and I ...we used to play together. Our mothers were good friends you see…”

Vegeta turned back to Goku, who was bowing slightly at the introduction. The assembled royals nodded in return.

“And may I further introduce to you my honoured guests, the Dragon Monks Master Roshi and his apprentice Krillin,” the Ox King puffed out his chest proudly.

“Thank you, your majesty,” Roshi replied with easy informality. “But for two of your guests I think introductions are not quite necessary.”

“You’re quite correct,” Tarble agreed, out-right beaming as he stepped off the bench towards the old monk. “It has been many, many a year since we last met.”

“You’re acquainted?” the Ox King asked in surprise.

“Indeed we are,” Tarble grinned, making his way across the dusty training ground, walking straight past Goku and holding his hand out to the old monk. “This man saved our lives when we were boys, did you not, sir?”

“You saved yourselves,” the old man smiled, taking Tarble’s hand warmly. “I was merely a conduit for your will to live.”

“However you choose to obfuscate the matter, you will not deflect my gratitude,” Tarble asserted, shaking the hand with gusto. “Thank you, Master Roshi, I am forever in your debt.”

“As am I,” Vegeta agreed somewhat stiffly, taking a few steps forward. He bowed, but couldn’t quite take his eyes off the young captain.

“These are the monks that saved my beloved sons?” Freeza asked, finally standing.

“Yes, father. They found us on the mountain, fed and sheltered us,” Tarble enthused, turning to address his father. “Were it not for his kindness we might have died on that mountain.”

“Gracious!” Freeza exclaimed. “Well how may I thank them for subverting what would have been a most undesirable fate?”

“No thanks are due, your majesty,” Roshi assured him. “We live to serve the Dragon God, and it was his spirit that led me to save these fine young men.”

“Well! That’s a turn-out, I declare!” the Ox King guffawed. “Who’d have thought it, eh? I guess it’s a small world, after all.”

Vegeta knew he ought to be showing more deference to the old monk, out of courtly respect or even basic gratitude, but there was something about the captain that was stealing his attention. There was something distantly familiar about the man, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Goku, I’m absolutely paggered,” the Ox King declared, marching over to his captain with a spring that belied his word, “will you take my place in the ring?”

“You what?”

“We’re sparring, my boy! But that little spit fire has this old timer tuckered out.”

“What, him?” Goku asked, before he could stop himself. Vegeta visibly rankled.

“My future son-in-law? Yes, him! Have at it, show him what an Eastern boy can really do.”

“If his highness does not object?” Goku asked carefully.

Vegeta did not answer immediately, but instead stalked to the weapon racks. “I would be more than happy to see what caliber of man is tasked with protecting my future wife.”

Only Goku saw Chi-Chi’s grimace, or noticed her blush into her hands.

“You’re a Saiyan, aren’t you?” Vegeta asked gruffly, tossing a sword carelessly at Goku who nevertheless caught it.

“So I’m told.”

“A Saiyan can always tell their own,” he turned on him, his own sword held out to his side as he acclimatised to its weight. “Tell me, Captain of the Royal guard, how did a foreigner come to hold such a lofty position at this imperial court?”

“I guess I was in the right place at the right time,” Goku shrugged, stepping into the arena.

“A touch of nepotism didn’t hurt,” the Ox King cut in, “but it was his prowess in battle and fierce loyalty to Chi-Chi and the rest of our family that made him the obvious choice to be my girl’s protector. King Briefs thinks very highly of him, might as well be his adopted son the way he treats him. Him, Bulma and Chi-Chi have been thick as thieves since they were kids.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye, and I’ve fought by this lad’s side more than once. I can tell you, there’s no finer swordsman in the whole capitol.”

“A warrior, huh?” Vegeta hefted his sword for show, taking a couple of practice swings. “Then this is going to be enjoyable.”

“I’m not one for talking about fighting rather than actually fighting,” Goku said simply, unbuckling his sheath and handing his real sword to Krillin. “Any rules before we start?”

“Standard blade spar, first touch to centre mass or upper leg wins.”

“Fine,” Goke stepped into the ring, stretching his arms. “I’m ready when you are.”

Vegeta was straight in with a low strike towards Goku’s thigh, which he deflected easily. Vegeta’s blade swung wide and Goku took the chance to step into Vegeta’s chest with his blade slicing upwards, but the Prince was prepared for that and pivoted so that he was behind Goku. The angle was not ideal and he couldn’t raise his blade in time to snag the hit, Goku nimbly leaping just out of his range when he realised he’d been played. They turned to face each other, mutually - and grudgingly - impressed.

“You’re fast,” Goku noted.

“And you’re no fool.”

Goku didn’t reply, but chose to prove him right by taking the offensive, unwilling to allow Vegeta to use his classical training to dictate the course of their fight. They fought face to face, parry meeting parry, watching each other intently as they studied their opponent. Vegeta was sharp, wily, and aggressive, but Goku was steady and rhythmic and didn’t have the constraints of formal schooling limiting his imagination. They fought blow for blow, while their captivated audience looked on.

“Now this is a show,” the Ox King said aside to Chi-Chi. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The princess said nothing, but continued to watch with fixed attention.

“You know what you’re doing, I’ll give you that,” Vegeta complimented his younger opponent.

“Some things you only learn on a battlefield,” Goku replied, pushing a parry hard and slightly staggering Vegeta. He moved in for the kill.

Vegeta was a sudden blur. Goku realised a moment too late that the stumble had been feigned and in launching what he thought would be a killing blow he had left his other side entirely open. He felt pressure and looked down; sure enough, the shorter man had twisted around Goku’s strike and now had his blade pressed firmly against his ribs.

“I agree,” Vegeta smirked.

Goku stepped back.

“Sneaky, that was a smart play,” he acknowledged. “You’re a good actor.”

“You’re correct about the battlefield. I had the best education that anyone could ask for, but the real classroom was on the field, soaked in blood and fighting for my very life,” the prince said, stepping back from his opponent. He cocked his head arrogantly. “I learned more from the battles we lost than in the hundreds of hours of swordplay lessons; though the latter at least gave me the skills to survive the former.”

“Maybe I need to lose more often then, so I can be as experienced as you.”

Vegeta’s face darkened.

“Another round, your highness?”

“Do we have time?” Vegeta asked, looking aside to Chi-Chi, who nodded. He noted that she was no longer smiling complacently as she had when he was fighting her father.

“Same rules?” Goku asked.

“Same rules.”

“Alright, I won’t go easy on you this time.”

Goku launched his attack, but this time feinting to his left then diving right. He set on Vegeta with sudden fury, his defensive posture dropped in favour of speed and aggression. It was a total departure from the previous round, with Vegeta struggling to block and parry Goku’s whirling blade and giving ground consistently. Goku was just waiting for his opening.

It came, a slight overcorrection on Vegeta’s part left a tiny opening, and Goku used his free hand to thrust Vegeta’s sword arm wide, stabbing him overly hard in the gut with his wooden blade. He stepped back quickly, letting his sword tip droop as Vegeta bent over, clutching his gut.

“Oops, guess I didn’t learn much from that bout,” Goku said with his own smirk.

“Unexpected,” Vegeta coughed, recovering quickly. “You were holding back.”

“When you have the opportunity to learn about your opponent, you should,” Goku replied. “My old master taught me that.”

“Best of three?

“Of course.”

Vegeta leapt to the offensive without warning, forcing Goku to take a step back with a sweeping parry. He drove forwards relentlessly, focussed entirely on Goku, the figures in his periphery fading away.

“Who was your master?” Vegeta asked curiously. “I’ve never met a Saiyan who fights like you.”

“Master Gohan, of the Dragon Monks.”

Goku sidestepped, forcing Vegeta to shift his momentum and giving himself more space to mount a counterattack. A stalemate thus ensued for several minutes, before they each broke away and gained space, circling each other like caged wolves.

“You were with the Dragon Monks… then how did you come to be here?”

“Turns out I wasn’t too good at monking,” Goku smiled.

“You can say that again,” Master Roshi interjected. “Shirking chores, complete lack of mental tranquility, running away to live in the woods for days at a time-”

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” Goku retorted, waving his sword vaguely at the old man, his eyes never leaving Vegeta. “When Bulma’s dad came to pay respects to the monks I got to hanging out with Bulma. We got on so well that old man Briefs offered to take me off their hands.”

“King Briefs,” Chi-Chi corrected quietly.

Goku looked up at her sharply, as if suddenly remembering that she existed. The lapse in concentration was not missed by Vegeta, who attacked immediately. Goku was wrong footed, leaning backwards and parrying hastily as Vegeta forced him to give ground. He still couldn’t quite break the taller man’s defences however, Goku making use of his height advantage to stay just out of range. Frustrated, Vegeta attacked Goku’s sword arm.

Goku yelled as Vegeta angled his blade into the crook of his elbow, and performed a full body twisting manoeuvre that forced the arm straight. The prince drove his elbow into Goku’s straightened arm, his sword beneath it to prevent him pulling down, forcing his grip on his sword to loosen. That done, he pirouetted away, taking Goku’s blade with him.

“Agh!” Goku exclaimed, rubbing his arm. “That hurt!”

“It was meant to,” Vegeta replied, somewhat incredulous. 

“That was a dirty move.”

“Judges?” Vegeta turned to their onlookers, holding both swords in one hand. “Have I committed a foul?”

“All’s fair in love and war,” the Ox King replied, “the fight continues.”

“Continues?” Vegeta queried.

“You haven’t landed a touch yet.”

Vegeta laughed, a touch nervously.

“My opponent is unarmed. Surely it would be unsportsmanlike.”

“If you want to concede, I understand,” Goku offered, his hands spread. “No one would think any less of you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He’s the best swordsman in Fire City,” the Ox King explained with a grin, “but he’s the best hand-to-hand combatant in the whole of my empire.”

“Fine, if that’s how you want it,” Vegeta snarled, tossing Goku’s sword out of bounds. “This will be far too easy.”

He charged, but Goku was ready for him. Without the encumbrance of a sword the young captain was able to move as freely as he liked, ducking and weaving and redirecting the force of Vegeta’s strikes with the flats of his hands. Vegeta stepped into his range, and somehow Goku would wind around him, and his every attempt to land a killing strike was confounded.

“How in the-” Vegeta panted, growing angrier with every failed attempt. “Did you learn this from your Master Gohan as well?”

“Mostly,” he smirked.

It was at that moment that Vegeta realised Goku’s palms were not actually touching his blade.

“You’re a-!” the prince cried out in fury, dropping back a step and raising his free hand. With a grunt he unleashed a wave of force magic that staggered, but did not drop his opponent. “You’ve been using magic!”

Goku looked about him uncomfortably, rubbing his arm.

“I mean, you just did-”

“I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t seen you doing it first, you charlatan!” Vegeta snapped back angrily. “I have at least that sense of fairness.”

“You have a sword!”

“It’s not my fault you couldn’t keep a hold of yours!”

“It is  _ exactly _ your fault!”

“Fine then, let’s have it your way!” Vegeta snarled, throwing his own sword away aggressively. “No weapons, just man to man. Show me what you’ve got!”

Goku glanced over to where Chi-Chi stood, pale-faced and watching intently, her bright, dark eyes wide with emotion. He grit his teeth and returned his gaze to the diminutive prince.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

They leapt at each other, no longer constrained by swords and forms, but a whirling dance of limbs and thousands of years of fighting instinct. Goku would dodge a kick, Vegeta would block a punch, and all the while the air rippled with little bursts of force magic as they each used their unique gifts to their advantage. The dirt of the training arena was agitated to airborne dust, small clouds forming where their blurring forms were doing battle. Vegeta got a hit in, smacking solidly against Goku’s jaw, but didn’t have time to take advantage of the moment as Goku came back with a sickening knee to the ribs. They both staggered a moment, pausing to breathe, and then they were back in the fray.

“Who’s winning?” Tarble asked the Ox King, who for once made him no answer. Tarble looked around and realised all the fighters, presumably everyone present bar himself, were watching the fight with rapt attention. He returned his own gaze to his warring brother.

“Who are you?” Vegeta snapped.

“I’m Goku!”

“How did you get this power? Where did you come from?”

“I’ve told you already!”

Enraged by Goku’s verbal and physical evasion, Vegeta headbutted. It was a brutish and costly move, one he would normally consider beneath him, but as his forehead connected with Goku’s face he managed to push the taller man backwards, and he felt a moment of satisfaction as Goku began to fall.

He barely had time to savour the moment, as Goku accelerated his own fall unexpectedly, twisting as he went down to sweep Vegeta’s legs out from underneath him. They both hit the ground hard in quick succession.

“That’s enough!” Chi-Chi cried, her voice tinny with concern. Vegeta looked up in surprise.

“You’re right, my darling,” the Ox King said, putting his huge hand over her comparatively tiny one. “We’re gonna be late if we let these two keep this up. It’s a tie!”

“A tie?” Vegeta growled, sitting up. His ribs hurt.

“Wait, no fair!” Goku agreed, getting to his knees.

“We have the announcement ceremony, boys. You’re both needed for that.”

“Him? What for?” Vegeta asked sharply, getting to his feet gingerly.

“He’s captain of the royal guard, it’s very much his job!” the Ox King guffawed. Tarble rubbed his own face in chagrin at his brother’s rudeness.

“But I tell you what, lads,” the Ox King continued, full of mirth, “that was the most entertainment I’ve had in weeks. We will have a tournament as part of the wedding celebrations!”

“Oh, how charming,” Freeza agreed, his eyes boring into Vegeta intensely. “My boy does like to show off.”

“What say you, Chi-Chi?” the Ox King asked his daughter.

“Yes, of course, that, uh, yes that would be, um,” she stammered, clearly wishing she could be literally anywhere else.

“Right, then it’s decided! I’ll make the arrangements. Now get a move on, you’re covered in dirt!” the old king stepped into the ring, putting his mighty arm around Vegeta. “You need to get cleaned up! Chi-Chi, you’ll be wanting to put on your nice frock, aye? Come on, come on, time’s a wasting. Goku, don’t forget your dress armour, lad. Don’t wanna embarrass your future queen now.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Goku mumbled, looking on helplessly as the Ox King walked away from him with both his opponent and his childhood friend in his great arms. Chi-Chi gave him one last, lingering look as she was ushered away, and Goku in that moment would have given all he had to fathom the meaning of her expression.


	10. Chapter 10

The Fire Mountain University of Arcane Arts was a relatively young building in comparison to its ancient surroundings. Fire Castle jutted straight out of Fire Mountain, and along with its city sprawled across its lower peak and out around its base in a haphazard fashion, every subsequent generation adding to its stones in whatever manner they saw fit, be that practical or aesthetic. As a result the castle itself was like a historical cross section, the lines where each addition was made clear from its foundation to its most modern outer walls. The ballroom for instance had been an addition just a century prior, but the corridors it led out to were notably older, and the city was much the same in terms of continuity of style. 

The university was a different beast, a contiguous and meticulously designed construction, the outcome of a deliberate decades long campaign by Chi-Chi’s great-great grandmother to codify the disparate magical learnings that were scattered throughout their empire. The final product was an immense, towering cathedral, a monument to knowledge that reached for the clouds with its spiralling towers even as its denizens plumbed the darkest depths of academia. It was a beautiful building to observe, and many an architect had prints of its fascia hung in their workspaces as inspiration, a remarkable example of thematic identity. For this reason it amused Bulma greatly that such an imposingly elegant building only added to the higgledy piggledy mess of styles and historical fingerprints that constituted the East Empire’s capitol.

The university was sited within the innermost walls, close to the castle. There were regular tours of the building, though the guides often omitted the fact that in order to have her precious university in such a favoured position, Chi-Chi’s revered ancestor forcibly displaced hundreds of citizens to make way for this shining jewel of imported stone and marble. 

To enter the building, at least by the front doors, one was required to travel through gates of intricately wrought iron, leading into an oval courtyard. The extensively landscaped garden hosted the rarest of trees and plants, with an ostentatiously large fountain magically lit as its centrepiece. From here there were several high arched doors, all made of very expensive woods inlaid with semi-precious metals, each leading to different wings of the building. 

Bulma stepped lightly past the slack-jawed tourists on their guided walk, ignoring the familiar words of the guides as she adjusted the straps on her shoulder bag. Ostentatious pomp did nothing to turn her head; to her, every visit to the Fire Mountain University of Arcane Arts was just another day at the office.

“Good morning, Bulma,” greeted a tall, spindly fellow, his beard as wild as usual.

“Good morning, professor,” she stopped and smiled at her colleague. “How’s your morning?”

“Only one unplanned combustion, so far!” he grinned excitedly, and she could see burn marks on the sleeve of his robe as he gesticulated. “My students are really coming along.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she laughed. 

“I hope you’ll be giving one of your special lectures soon?”

“Not in the immediate future,” she said, glumly. “Between the wedding and my new student I’m going to have my hands rather full.”

“Oh of course. It’s a shame for my students, but what a massive boon for Prince Vegeta!”

“Indeed, I’m sure he’s as excited as I am,” Bulma smirked sarcastically.

“They looked very happy at the announcement ceremony yesterday.”

“Not quite as happy as their fathers,” Bulma said, glancing about her as she did to check for eavesdroppers.

“Yes, but it’s a good match, all told. Very eligible.”

“I suppose,” Bulma sighed. “It’s not like either of them had a great deal of candidates to choose from.”

“Hmm, quite. The more illustrious ones parentage the smaller ones scope for agency,” he said, nodding seriously. “Speaking of, I must get on. I’m meeting Prince Tarble in the library.”

“Prince Tarble?”

“Yes, the dean assigned me as his new research partner, given your new responsibility.”

“Oh,” Bulma said, smiling politely. “I didn’t think historical artifacts were your field of study.”

“Well that’s what I said, but there’s this whole thing about rank, and, you know…”

The professor was head of Magitech studies and, like her, one of only a few faculty members who stemmed from high noble families.

“Our visitors seem to care more about who our progenitors were than any of our actual abilities,” Bulma finished for him.

“I worked hard to be called ‘professor’,” he agreed, “I was merely born into ‘my lord’. I believe any person who has done the necessary study should be equal to the task regardless of title.”

“I know how you feel. I was excited about that project, but just because he’s the higher rank I’m expected to shift all of my attention to Prince Vegeta.”

“I’ll certainly do my best to keep you in the loop,” he said apologetically. “And of course I’ll be keeping the team you selected, they will have a better grasp of the subject.”

“Well I wish you luck,” she said, taking a step. “I’m at liberty to tell you that the younger brother at least has the superior manners.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure it will all be, uh, quite, um…”

“You’ll be fine,” she took another step, glancing at the huge clock that fronted the courtyard, its hands glowing with magical energy.

“Bother, yes, the time, must get on. Toodle-pip!”

He hurried away, his bushy brows furrowed. Bulma watched him go, saw the tense hunch to his shoulders, and pitied him.

She ought not to have engaged in such candid talk, given her most recent admonishment from her beloved friend. Walking alone through the gardens and into the high ceilinged corridors of the university, she was at leisure to reflect on that. 

The announcement ceremony had been the previous afternoon, and had been correct to the letter. The Ox King and Emperor Freeza appeared on the balcony of Fire Castle’s public facade, the diverse crowds beneath cheering at the sight of their well-liked ruler. Princess Chi-Chi and Prince Vegeta were then summoned forth to join their parents, and the Ox King proudly declared their intent to marry to the assembly. Uproarious applause followed, at which both Vegeta and Chi-Chi winced. Bulma watched her throughout from the courtyard, on a raised platform from which the higher nobility were safely observing the celebration. Her smile was polished but practiced, and the Prince didn’t look any happier, though that might have been the prominent bruise that had purpled his cheekbone. The date was then announced, to the visible satisfaction of the city’s major tradesmen, many of whose services were already engaged for the upcoming nuptials. Finally the Ox King declared the day a city-wide holiday, and the royal unit retired to the castle. It was all exactly as tradition required.

The evening had consisted of a formal banquet for the guests who had already arrived for the Presentation, very elegant and with a small dance afterwards. Chi-Chi’s hand was in everything, from the understated decor to the refined menu. Chi-Chi was necessarily tied to Vegeta’s arm for the whole evening, and it wasn’t until after the festivities that they were able to dissemble the events to their own satisfaction.

“I assume that little love mark on your fiance’s cheek was picked up this morning?” Bulma had asked her friend as they undressed after the party.

“Oh lords, don’t remind me,” Chi-Chi blushed, looking away. “They were supposed to take it easy.”

“So your dad made him eat dirt, huh? Wish I hadn’t skipped it now, that would have been fun to watch.”

“Well, actually…” Chi-Chi trailed off, fiddling with a lace.

“Actually?”

“...Goku did it.”

“Goku?” Bulma queried immediately.

“Uh-huh.”

“Our Goku?” she pressed.

“Hm,” Chi-Chi nodded, not meeting her eye.

“Captain Goku of the Royal Guard, my adopted brother, and your personal protector, punched your fiance in the face on the day of your engagement?”

“I think it was an elbow, but to be honest they hit each other so many times it was hard to keep track.”

“ _ Who won? _ ” Bulma asked, grabbing her friend by the wrist in excitement.

“The spar? Neither. Straight tie,” Chi-Chi pulled her wrist away gently.

“Oh my  _ gods _ , was he furious?”

“Goku?”

“No, Prince Vegeta!” Bulma exclaimed.

“He wasn’t happy about it,” Chi-Chi said with a frown, “and certainly not as gleeful as you are.”

“I’m sorry, he was just such a horse’s ass at breakfast, the thought of seeing him taken down a peg, and by  _ Goku _ of all people-”

“Bulma, please,” Chi-Chi cut her off, glancing about in case the maids were still hovering in the next room. “You can’t talk about him like that.”

“Which one?” she replied to her friend, her brow arched with meaning.

“Bulma,” Chi-Chi warned.

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Bulma relented, sitting down on the edge of Chi-Chi’s bed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay,” Chi-Chi sighed. “And I suppose you taking a dislike to him was inevitable, given your opposition to the marriage in general.”

“I don’t oppose the marriage,” Bulma objected, “I just want to know that it’s definitely what  _ you _ want.”

“I was involved in the negotiations, father consulted me on every point, I am perfectly complicit in this decision, Bulma,” she explained with weary exasperation. “I’m going to marry Prince Vegeta, that much is settled. Whatever personal feelings I might have on matters of love and marriage, they do not negate the fact that I have chosen this, I have chosen him, and it hurts me that you act like I’m some sort of victim of circumstance.”

“I ...hadn’t thought of it that way,” Bulma admitted, her eyes stinging slightly. Chi-Chi wiped at her own eyes.

“I don’t love him, no-one expects me to, and I doubt he loves me, but he is considerate and respectful of me and my family. From what conversation I’ve had with him last night and today I find his mind acceptably refined and his tastes befitting a man of rank and respectability. This is probably the best I can hope for, and I don’t regret my decision. You’re meant to be my advisor, and moreover you’re meant to be my friend. I think you could at least be supportive.”

“Chi-Chi…” Bulma stared at her own feet, shame gnawing at her stomach. “I’m sorry. I do support you, and you’re right, if this is your choice then I respect that.”

“It’s okay for you not to like him, you two didn’t exactly get the best introduction, but can you please  _ try _ to get to know him before you write him off?” Chi-Chi pleaded, sitting next to her and taking her hand in hers. “I don’t love him, but I do love you, and everyone knows that. How do you think it looks to the court if my closest friend and advisor shows public contempt for my chosen spouse?”

“I would never…” Bulma squeezed her hand. “I wouldn’t embarrass you like that.”

“He’s going to be part of our family soon, and he’s not going away. Don’t you think it will be better for the both of you if you got along? Who knows, with a little effort you might even become friends, and lord knows that would make my life a lot easier.”

“You’re right,” Bulma sighed, resting her head on her friend’s shoulder. “I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Just don’t be  _ too _ charming, hmm?” Chi-Chi smiled slyly.

“My lady, I do believe you’re bringing the integrity of my womanly honour into question!” Bulma replied in mock offence.

“There’s my Bulma,” Chi-Chi smiled, kissing her friend’s forehead.

“There you are.”

A harsh voice broke Bulma from her reverie, snatching her suddenly from her warm memory of the previous evening and sharply into the present. 

“Are you always late?” the voice continued.

She had just opened the door to the classroom she had commandeered, and sprawled across a chair -  _ her  _ chair as it happened - was her student, sporting his haughtiest expression.

“Excuse me?” she asked frostily, shutting the door behind her with a sharp snap.

“Late for the ball, late to our lesson, late for breakfast, do you ever make it to anything on time?” he asked, leaning forwards, his elbows on her desk.

“I am not late,” she informed him brusquely. “And besides, better to be late to appointments than late to good manners.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It  _ means _ that I clearly have more to teach you than magical principles,  _ your highness _ .”

“Elaborate,” he ordered.

She marched into the room, after double checking the door was properly shut, and thumped her shoulder bag down onto the desk.

“See here,” she rounded on him, leaning down so that she was nearly at eye level with him. “Chi-Chi is important to me, and she needs us to help make this alliance a success. That means we have to be civil to each other, at least in public.”

“I am perfectly civil!” he objected, leaning back slightly.

“Oh come off it!” she stood to her full height, looking down her nose at him. “You were rude to me at breakfast yesterday, and you’ve only gotten worse today. And don’t think for a second that Chi-Chi hasn’t noticed.”

“So you expect me to be nice to you, after you humiliated me at the presentation ceremony?”

“I humiliated you? What about me?!” Bulma retorted.

“You tricked me!” he asserted, also standing. “You let me think you were Chi-Chi, and we nearly caused a - I don’t know, political incident!”

“How was that  _ my _ fault?”

“You should have introduced yourself.”

“Well  _ you _ should have at least gotten a description of your betrothed! Lord, I have  _ blue hair _ ! The slightest bit of research into your spouse would have clued you in!”

“I’m not shallow like you,” he deflected, his cheeks reddening. “Anyway, could I not level the same accusation at you?”

“Okay, first of all, I am not the one getting married in a month’s time, and secondly I  _ did _ do my research, and you’ll excuse me for mistaking you for Prince Tarble when all the information I could find on your brother was ‘weird hair’ and ‘really short’!”

“Really, personal insults? That’s the route you want to go?” he sneered. “I wouldn’t advise it, given your own obvious defects.”

“How dare you!”

“How dare I? How dare  _ you- _ !”

“Enough!” Bulma yelled, putting her hands out at her sides. He must have been floundering for responses because he obliged, and they were silent save for their angry breathing for a few seconds before Bulma collected herself. “Enough. We’re acting like children. We owe it to Chi-Chi to behave better than this.”

“What have you in mind?” he asked semi-sarcastically.

“That we put the embarrassment of the ball behind us, and start this relationship again on a professional footing,” she said, breathing through her nose to control her anger. “We don’t have to like each other, but we do have to work together, so let’s focus on that.”

“I suppose I’ve had to run campaigns with plenty of officers whose company I would otherwise despise.”

“Right, well that’s one thing we have in common at least. There are at least half a dozen professors in this place I would happily feed to hyenas if I didn’t have to work with them.”

She thought she saw Vegeta laugh a little bit, but his face smoothed over immediately. He started to pace the room.

“Chi-Chi wants me to teach you magic, so that’s what I’m going to do,” she said, her hands still shaking with residual rage, but coming under control.

“This is so unnecessary,” Vegeta sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I am perfectly in control of my abilities; this whole thing is just for show.”

“Maybe, but then again maybe not,” Bulma shrugged. “Have you considered the possibility that I might actually be able to teach you a thing or two?”

He looked sideways at her, both accusing and appraising.

“I suppose it’s not beyond the realm of possibility,” he admitted, “but what use have I for dusty old books and parlour tricks? I’m a warrior.”

“You might be surprised at the different ways you can apply our craft.”

He said nothing, but crossed his arms disbelievingly.

“I tell you what, how about you show me what you can do?” she suggested.

He looked at her for a moment, before raising his arm and pointing it towards one of the wooden dummies that were set up at the far end of the room. He smirked a little and the air in front of him rippled as a blast of pure energy erupted from his hand and sent the dummy crashing against the back wall.

“Not bad,” she admitted. “Now pick it back up.”

“Don’t you have servants for that?”

“No, with your magic.”

“...Huh?”

“...Oh dear,” she muttered. She waved her arm gracefully and the dummy stood to attention, then slid towards them, its faceless head wobbling. She glanced surreptitiously at Vegeta, who was not quick enough to hide his momentary surprise. “I see we’re starting from the principles then. This is going to be a very long day.”

* * *

The hallowed grounds of the university were not the only green space, and not even the most revered one on Fire Mountain. Further up the mountain, accessible only through the most internally secure wing of the castle, lay the Empress Gardens, a marvel of architectural ingenuity that took full advantage of the fertile volcanic soil that surrounded the city. Through the royal family apartments, a distinguished guest might be led through ancient corridors to a more modern addition, a tower, built not for defence but for access to what, at its time of construction, had been hailed as the most ambitious project ever undertaken in the pursuit of leisure. Ox King’s forebears had at some point converted the winding staircase into a steam powered lift system, drawing from the volcanic energy below them. Bulma’s magitech department had made many improvements to this, doing what they did best in combining the natural with the supernatural. All of this the Ox King was proudly reciting to his guests, with frequent corrections from his daughter, as they stepped out of the lift and on to the mountain cliffside.

“That’s mighty impressive,” Master Roshi agreed, nodding along to the Ox King’s enthusiastic tour guiding.

The elevator was very wide, permitting with perfect comfort the huge Ox King and his guests, which included Freeza and his youngest son, the two monks, Chi-Chi and two members of her personal guard - though as those guards were Goku and his close friend Yamcha, Roshi put down their inclusion to favouritism rather than any need for protection. 

“My own dear wife, gods rest her soul, had them add these railings you see here,” the old king reminisced. “She was worried that the children might fall down the shaft.”

“A wise woman, I remember her,” Roshi nodded solemnly.

“We were married in these gardens,” the king continued wistfully.

“Well I’m as eager as anyone to see the venue for my son’s upcoming nuptials,” Freeza said, privately concerned that the old King was going to devolve into sentimentality at any moment. “There is still much to prepare.”

“That’s true, time’s a-wasting!” the Ox King bellowed, marching off suddenly through the small plateau at which the elevator had alighted, leaving his guests to follow him. Chi-Chi shook her head with a little smile, but Freeza was struggling to hide his growing affront.

The plateau was a paved circle, polished marble with granite pillars encircling, and only a modest roof of the same materials to cover the elevator. Beyond that circle lay the Empress Gardens in all of their glory, and those of the group who were not familiar with the sight were stopped in their tracks at the absolute beauty of it as they stepped out from behind the obscuring pillars.

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Chi-Chi said quietly to her guests, in contrast to her father’s booming pride. Her gentle reverence suited the place better than any bombastic declaration could; the gardens were the very essence of beauty, sprawling volcanic soil hosting the most graceful flora that - with a little magical aid - could be convinced to grow at such an altitude; no rarity for rarity’s sake like in the University gardens, the Empress Gardens were made for the eyes of those whose taste was beyond such spectacle. Chi-Chi bent her pale neck to inhale the fragrance of a nearby rose.

“The original architects sought to preserve this peak’s natural beauty, rather than bend it to a landscaper’s will,” she explained as they stepped further into the garden. “The walls that you see were built so that they front straight on to the walls of the cliff, and from rock quarried from just over the Eastern peak. When viewing from outside it’s difficult to see where the natural rock ends and our walls begin.”

“That must be incredible to view from an airship,” Tarble commented, his genuine admiration for the genteel taste of at least one of his hosts apparent in his expression.

“Oh it is, very much so. I used to come up here to play when I was young, and now I tend to these gardens myself when I’m able.”

“Come look at our ancient yew!” the Ox King shouted from the other end of the garden. “It’s two hundred years old!”

“One hundred and seventy,” Chi-Chi corrected under her breath. 

“The yew, a symbol of life and death in many cultures,” Tarble nodded sagely, dutifully following his father and the monks. Yamcha also followed, but Goku - being familiar with the gardens - hung back, as did Chi-Chi.

“Your father seems happy,” Goku commented as soon as the others were out of earshot. 

“As always,” Chi-Chi agreed quietly.

“And you? Are you happy?”

“Of course I am,” she said, smiling wanly. “I have every reason to be.”

“Do you remember when we used to play up here? When Bulma and me would visit with King Briefs?”

“I do, those were wonderful days.”

“You seemed happy then,” he continued, looking away.

“I was - and I am,” she said, a tiny sliver of steel creeping into her voice.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, still not looking at her. “You’re not happy.”

Chi-Chi stood up straight, abandoning the rose she had been caressing.

“Your role, Captain, is to see to my physical safety, not my emotional well-being,” she stated coldly.

“Of course, your highness,” Goku replied, his tone emotionless but his hands clenched.

“We should join my father,” she said, moving towards the group.

“If that is not an official command, then my lady will excuse me,” Goku replied, prompting her to turn back sharply in surprise. “I have duties to attend to.”

“Captain ...Goku, you were invited here. You are welcome to enjoy the gardens with papa and I.”

“Is that a command, your highness?”

“I ...no, of course not. I would never…”

“Thank you my lady,” he bowed and turned in one graceful movement, marching directly back to the elevator.

* * *

Vegeta followed the servant, his arms folded stiffly across his chest. He had been in lessons with Princess Bulma for only two hours but it was long enough for him to realise that he may have been mistaken, and Prince Vegeta didn’t take kindly to being mistaken. Once their initial argument was put aside Bulma had behaved in an outwardly professional way, but he couldn’t shake the sense that she was mocking him with every word out of her mouth. He initially scoffed at her assertion that his skills were undeveloped, but as the lesson continued and she demonstrated a greater level of skill than his, he grew more and more uncomfortable.

“That’s alright,” she had said calmly when he failed to pull the dummy upright with his magic, “I couldn’t do it straight away either. It takes practice.”

He’d wanted to strangle her with the strap of her book bag.

She’d gone on to say that she was fairly certain his natural magical ability exceeded hers, but that he hadn’t been taught how to fully utilise it, that he had been limited by his teachers and their narrow view of what force magic can do. She wasn’t rude, or even unkind, but he felt affronted all the same. Worse was that he couldn’t put his finger on what precisely had angered him; there was no audience, no direct insult, nothing he could credibly point to as offensive. His own behaviour he could not reflect on entirely favourably, looking back on his ill-humoured silence throughout the lesson with a sliver of shame. He had agreed to cease their animosity, but he couldn’t bring himself to full civility. It was unbecoming of him, as had been the argument that preceded his huffy muteness.

But then he’d very much enjoyed that argument.

This revelation alarmed him, but he again couldn’t quite ascertain why. It was something akin to the rush he felt when fighting a worthy foe, with an element of the enjoyment gleaned from poking his brother’s temper. He’d felt a momentary freedom, to say whatever came to mind with impunity, knowing on some level that there would be no fallout from this, peppered with a grudging respect at her unwillingness to submit. He wasn’t accustomed to this, especially in women. In either of his fathers’ kingdoms, women did not speak to men that way; even Chi-Chi was dangerously close to insubordination in the ways she would occasionally divert or scold her father. Vegeta found that, while at first he was a little wrong-footed by their informality of language when addressing males of rank, he found their modes of communication almost charming. They certainly made him feel less of a pariah when he stumbled over the formalities of court.

The servant slowed to a stop, as did Vegeta. He looked up, his face darkening.

“This is the elevator to the Empress Gardens, your highness,” the servant bowed. “Would his highness prefer an escort?”

“You can operate it from here?” he asked gruffly.

“Correct, your highness.”

“Then you can stay, I’ll go up alone.”

“Very good your highness, please enter through here.”

The servant led him through a guarded set of double doors and through to what was previously a tower with winding steps, but now housed the famed elevator. It was a beautiful structure, all rare woods and wrought iron, sculpted in the shapes of leaves and vines. There was a small podium to the right that housed the operation equipment, all levers and things that Vegeta took one look at and ignored. The servant moved to the podium and pulled a lever. The decorative wooden door rolled open as a result.

“If your highness pleases, the lift is ready for you now.”

He stepped wordlessly into the elevator, glancing around at its impressive size. Even with the Ox King, the party upstairs would only have needed a single trip.

“His highness will of course keep well clear of the doors, in his inimitable wisdom,” the servant added, and Vegeta stepped back from the sliding door with a scowl. He was beginning to think the servant was mocking him. The servant had also made him lose his train of thought, which annoyed him further. He glared out as the door slid to a close. The lift initialised, performing a smooth ascent. Most magitech engineering in his experience was clunky, built for function, but the elegance of this contraption impressed Vegeta.

The lift slowed, then stopped, then the door slid open again, revealing to Vegeta the first time the Empress Gardens. He stepped out onto the paved circle, and almost barged straight into Captain Goku.

They stared at each other a moment, both taking an automatic step backwards. For a moment Vegeta thought he saw the young captain open his mouth to speak, but he seemed to think better of it and gave a shallow bow instead.

“In a hurry, Captain?”

“Just eager to see to my duties, your highness.”

“Is your duty not standing over there?” Vegeta asked gruffly, gesturing to his fiance who had just appeared in view. She was waving conservatively, but her face betrayed a certain amount of confused emotion. “Is there something more important to you than the protection of my future wife?”

“No-one can get up here without using the lift, and only the royal family and their guests are allowed to do that,” Captain Goku retorted calmly, “and now that you’re here I reckon I’m surplus to requirements, your highness.”

There was something about the way that Goku said ‘your highness’ that made Vegeta narrow his eyes.

“That thicket of trees over there could hide a skilled assassin,” Vegeta mused, walking past Goku and towards Chi-Chi, “or that wall there might be scaled by one of the famed light footed monks of Namek, or by some secret magic might a sorcerer find their way into these secluded heights and perform regicide while your back is turned. Your dedication to your post seems lacking.”

Goku said nothing, but he didn’t continue his walk to the elevator.

“By all means, don’t let me keep you,” Vegeta said to him without looking back. “Unless your duties are not as urgent as you claim.”

With balled fists and a stifled growl, Goku turned to watch the company, but he couldn’t bring himself to join them.

“So these are the famous Empress Gardens? I can see why they’re so renowned,” Vegeta said as he greeted Chi-Chi. 

“You like them?” Chi-Chi asked, a little red cheeked. He noticed her attention seemed split between himself and the Captain stood to attention in the background.

“I can’t imagine a person alive who would not,” he confirmed, “they’re stunning.”

“I can give you the tour if you’d like? Especially while our fathers are engaged.”

Vegeta glanced over her shoulder to see the Ox King and Freeza deep in conversation, the emperor using every gram of his willpower to hide his confusion and disdain for the great king. Tarble, a guard and the monks trailed along helplessly.

“I would enjoy that,” he agreed. “I might even get a word in edgeways.”

Chi-Chi smiled at his joke, and offered her hand. He took it, placing it in the crook of his elbow.

“You seem much more relaxed today,” she observed.

“It’s easier to speak when one isn’t constantly wary of minute scrutiny,” Vegeta said, glancing again at his father.

“Quite so, on that we’re very much in agreement,” she replied quietly. “So how was your lesson?”

Vegeta didn’t reply immediately, and was not quick enough to disguise his involuntary scowl.

“Princess Bulma has a great deal of skill,” he admitted in a low voice, “I anticipate learning a prodigious amount from her.”

“...But?”

“But?”

Chi-Chi smiled, her eyes lowered, a charming expression that ought to have stirred more than the platonic admiration that he felt.

“I observed over your last few encounters that you and she are not the best of friends.”

“We’ve only just met.”

“You know what I mean, are you going to force me to speak frankly?”

He paused, pursing his lips as he thought. Chi-Chi noted that he had a very fine shape to his face, his lips in particular, but also found herself making involuntary comparisons that she stamped on viciously.

“I won’t deny that we haven’t quite got off on the right foot,” he said carefully, “but our lesson was professional and civil. We have committed to a pattern of future behaviour befitting to our stations and relationship with yourself.”

“By the dragon, was she teaching you magic or diplomacy?” Chi-Chi laughed.

“I hate to admit it, but I think both.”

“Well she’s been doing some studying in private then because  _ that _ is a topic I’ve wanted her to brush up on as well.”

“Heavens, are you suggesting the hot headed princess with the smart mouth is occasionally a diplomatic liability? How can this be?”

Chi-Chi laughed again, her hand squeezing his arm.

“I’m glad you’re getting along better. It wouldn’t serve me well at court if the jackals thought my new husband and closest friend were at odds.”

“Ho, Vegeta!” the Ox King bellowed from the other side of the gardens. “Where are you sneaking off to with my daughter?”

“Uh-oh,” Chi-Chi smiled, “we’ve been caught.”

“I’m surprised it took him that long.”

“Come over here, I want to show you our yew tree! It’s over two hundred years old!”

“Father, I don’t think our guests have all been introduced,” Chi-Chi diverted him as they walked over.

“What do you mean? We’re all family up here.”

She looked archly past him to where Yamcha was stood at ease with the monks.

“Oh! Of course! Vegeta, this is Lieutenant Yamcha, another of Chi-Chi’s childhood playmates.”

The Lieutenant bowed, and Vegeta nodded, recognising him as the soldier who had helped Bulma slip them unnoticed into the ballroom.

“Do you have any childhood friends who were not enlisted into your father’s military?”

“Not many,” she admitted, “do you?”

Vegeta fell quiet.

“Oh my girl and Bulma used to go off on all these little adventures!” the Ox King reminisced. “Bulma would call them ‘research trips’ but really it was just an excuse for them to go be kids.”

“Yes, perfectly normal children with round-the-clock armed guards,” Chi-Chi added drily.

“Your mother hated it, but I always let you go,” he sighed. “She was worried you would get into mischief, and of course she was right. That’s how you found this rascal!”

He slapped Yamcha on the back, who was clearly unprepared for the blow.

“Helped you out of a scrape, got you back to your guards, and then you brought him home with you!”

“That’s more or less correct, your majesty,” Yamcha agreed, slightly winded.

“Goku was with you girls, wasn’t he?” the king continued. “He reckons he could have taken on those bandits by himself, but I’m glad Yamcha was there to assist.”

“This charming anecdote is beginning to sound like child endangerment,” Freeza remarked, much to the amusement of Tarble and the monks.

“Yup, quite the fighter, this one. He’ll be entering the tournament.”

“I guess so, if Goku is…” Yamcha said hesitatingly.

“Hey Goku!” the king bellowed as his companions winced. “Looking forward to the tournament? You’ll get a rematch with our Prince Vegeta here.”

Goku narrowed his eyes.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, your majesty.”

“Well that’s settled. Right! Come on you lot, I want to show these holy men our hot springs!”

Chi-Chi was holding her gaze stiffly in the direction her father was marching, but Vegeta gave one last look over his shoulder at the Captain who stood patiently near the elevator, before turning to join the others.

* * *

“Another day over with!” Freeza declared that evening as soon as they were alone in their apartments. “I swear every minute spent talking to that oaf feels like a lifetime.”

“At least there’s the option of saying nothing at all, right Vegeta?” Tarble said, looking pointedly at his brother.

“He doesn’t leave me much of anything  _ to _ say,” he retorted, spreading himself out on a chaise longue.

“Well, given your performance with that spice princess the other morning I’m revising my orders, it’s safer if you say as little as possible when in company.”

Vegeta frowned. 

“I’m not denying the woman is a mouthy little upstart,” Freeza continued as Tarble prepared their evening tea, “but as Princess Chi-Chi’s close friend and advisor it is of utmost importance that you win her approval, though I must say I’d happily see her tossed face first off of the damned mountain. How women in this kingdom are allowed to speak so disrespectfully to their ranked superiors is beyond me.”

“These are private familial interactions, father,” Vegeta said carefully, “they’re not reflective of courtly manners.”

“I don’t think that spice witch  _ has _ any courtly manners.”

Vegeta looked away, unable to keep his frown from deepening.

“I trust your lesson went well?”

“It was fine,” Vegeta shrugged.

“The absolute arrogance of these people, to think that they would have anything significant to teach one of  _ my _ sons about magic,” Freeza continued to rant in his quiet, petulant tone. “But their arrogance makes them easy to manipulate.”

“I thought you mandated these lessons?” Vegeta asked in surprise. 

“I did, but only as a means of having you and Tarble in the University. There is something far more important than abstract knowledge hiding in that building.”

“Father? What are you saying?”

“Why do you think we arranged so specifically for me to have a research project with Princess Bulma?” Tarble asked wearily.

“Why do you two always speak in bloody riddles?” Vegeta snapped.

“You really don’t know the rumours, do you?”

“I’ve been on active military duty for the better part of a decade, what rumour am I supposed to know about?”

“Princess Briefs has possession of a Dragonball,” Tarble stated plainly, “allegedly.”

“...What?” he sat up straight, looking at his father and brother in astonishment.

“One of the seven. Furthermore it’s a well-known secret that Chi-Chi possesses one of her own,” Tarble continued. “Our research project was centered around artifacts. It was designed from the outset as a means by which I might get her to divulge the secret of how and where she found her Dragonball, and where she hides it now, if indeed she does have one.”

“That would explain…”

“Her magical ability?” Freeza sniffed. “It’s true that Dragonballs enhance one’s latent abilities, but unless her innate powers are particularly tiny then the influence of a Dragonball should result in a much more impressive display than her little spoon trick. No, I don’t believe she’s attuned to it, but I have reason enough to suspect that she might possess one.”

“But your research project was re-staffed,” Vegeta turned to Tarble.

“Yes, so now I have the mind-numbingly tedious job of feigning interest in that library’s dusty old books, while you, my dear brother, are now the sole arbiter of my true mission.”

“Oh for fucks sake.”

“Watch your language,” Freeza snapped. “And wipe that insolent look off your face. You are going to find out everything you can about the Dragonballs from the spice witch, or gods help me I will put you down myself.”

“How?!” Vegeta stood up, rejecting the cup of tea that Tarble was offering him. “I was told to go to my lessons, be polite, don’t make a scene, and now you want me to be - what - a double agent? I’m a warrior, not a spy!”

“I find your attitude tiresome,” Freeza yawned. “I’m not asking much of you. Your adversary is a  _ woman _ , nothing more. A woman is fickle, and even though this one has been over-educated she will still be easily tricked by a polite and well-turned-out man.”

Vegeta wondered if Tarble remembered their mother; he noted that he wouldn’t meet his eye while their father made his speech.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?” Vegeta demanded.

“Because Tarble and I needed a chance to speak in private beforehand and discuss our plans moving forward,” Freeza answered, his chin resting on his hand as he appraised his agitated son. “You should be thanking me; I’m giving you the opportunity to make up for your abject failure in Namek.”

Vegeta and Tarble were silent, but their stony expressions spoke volumes.

“I sent you boys halfway across the planet, to retrieve me a Dragonball, and all you returned to me was a declaration of war from the Namekians and empty hands. Oh and not to mention the airship you lost on the way.”

“My marriage will nullify our war status with Namek-”

“I want that Dragonball. I can wait for Princess Chi-Chi’s, I can wait a very long time, but in the meantime you will find out for me if the rumours about the spice witch are true, and if they are you  _ will _ divest that unworthy wretch of her Dragonball. Do I make myself clear?”

He stared disbelievingly at the painted emperor.

“Vegeta?”

“Yes ...father. I understand.”

He took the cup of tea that Tarble was offering again.

“Now drink your tea and go to bed,” Freeza said, handing his empty cup to Tarble. “I will see you in the morning.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Are you sure about this?” the tiny woman asked him, her pale little hand on Tarble’s arm.

He was packing a bag, though it was taking rather a long time as things kept falling out. He smiled at her reassuringly.

“Gure, I’ve never been so certain about anything in my whole life.”

“But if we’re caught, what will they do to us?”

“We won’t be caught, I have planned everything to the letter.”

He touched her white cheek, her warm eyes dark little gems in her round face. She was pretty, at least to him, small and sweet, the first adult woman he’d known who was even shorter than she was. Her figure wasn’t elegant but she had an exceptional air of warm kindness, despite her hard life. She wore the brown robes of a low level slave.

“I’m scared, Tarble.”

“Gure, do you love me?”

She bit her lip, her hand reaching for his.

“Of course I do.”

“And you know I love you, right?”

“You’d have to, to risk everything for someone like me…”

“Someone like you?” Tarble queried. “You mean someone kind, gentle and clever, someone warm and loving? You think I wouldn’t trade everything to possess a beautiful flower that somehow germinated in a blasted landscape of barren ice? I think it’s beyond a miracle that someone like you can exist in a place like this.”

“Won’t you miss your family?” she pressed, standing closer to him. He could smell her.

“They’re not my family, only Vegeta, and since he joined the army I never see him anyway.”

“What will we do? How will we survive?”

“Like I told you, I’ll trade as a travelling scribe, you can launder clothes and sell repairs, we’ll make enough to get by,” Tarble insisted, proud of his plan and charmed by the idea of living a subsistence lifestyle. “Trust me. I love you.”

The bag was packed, and he shouldered it.

“I do trust you. You’re so smart, I would have to be an even bigger fool than I am not to trust you,” she blushed humbly.

“You’re no fool,” Tarble said, kissing her hand before gripping it firmly. “Now let’s get out of here, before the palace awakes.”

“That’s quite enough.”

A shadow appeared over them, and they spun around in terror to stare at the open door, the door he thought he’d locked, the door that now admitted Berryblue and a large, faceless guard. There were no other exits.

“Tarble, what could you possibly be thinking!” she sniffed, advancing on them, “and with a slave? A foreign slave no less! Your father would be disgusted.”

“He’s no father of mine!” Tarble cried, raising his hands and calling on his magic.

Berryblue stopped in her tracks, narrowing her eyes at him. With a flick of her wrist Tarble was knocked from his feet, flying hard against the far wall. He opened his eyes just in time to see Gure seized by the huge armoured figure that followed Berryblue.

“Tarble!” she shrieked hoarsely. He opened his mouth to reply but no sound issued forth.

“Pathetic, trying to challenge me,” Berryblue growled, her hand glowing. “Even if you had a Dragonball you would still not be equal to the task.”

“Just - just let us leave. Freeza doesn’t - doesn’t care about me…” he gasped, still winded from the blow.

“Dispose of her,” Berryblue ordered the guard, who lifted Gure bodily from the ground.

“Why can’t you - just - let us - just -” Tarble couldn’t get his words out, his lungs couldn’t fill with enough air; his tongue felt heavy.

“I’ll take Prince Tarble back to his room,” she continued, ignoring him. He could see the guard retreating with Gure, but he couldn’t move. She was shrieking his name, but the sound already seemed so far away.

“ _ Tarble! Tarble help! _ ”

Distant, an oddly deep tenor too.

“Tarble.”

He was trying to focus but it was so hard. Everything was odd somehow. He could see Berryblue approaching him, and wondered if it was her voice he was hearing.

“Tarble, wake up.”

Tarble opened his eyes, and was jerked sharply back to reality. For a moment he didn’t recognise his bed, or his room, only the severe face that hovered over him.

“It’s not like you to oversleep,” Vegeta remarked, frowning at his little brother.

He passed a hand over his eyes, wiping away the sweaty hair that had stuck to his forehead.

“So are you planning to get up today?”

“Shut up,” Tarble growled, pushing his brother away fiercely.

“You were muttering,” the elder brother continued, watching Tarble haul himself out of bed and slouch over to the nightstand. “Nightmares?”

“Yes,” Tarble confirmed, “about your table manners. I dreamt you were trying to dismantle a plate of escargot.”

“I’m so glad you woke up in a good mood,” he retorted drily. “What’s my schedule for today?”

“Are we really doing this every morning?” he sighed, washing his face. “Why do I bother telling you anything if you’re just going to insist I babysit you regardless?”

“I can go out there unsupervised if you like? I hear the Spice Kingdom royal family has arrived, and a few other notables.”

“Sometimes I’m tempted to just let you,” Tarble pulled his shirt on, glaring at his brother, “but who gets it in the neck when you fuck up and ruin a diplomatic relationship?”

“I like to think it’s fifty-fifty.”

“If only the fault were too!”

“Alright, I see your point, but what am I to do about it?” Vegeta shrugged. “We each have our roles.”

“Yes, mine is to do all the work and yours is to reap all the reward.”

“Reward, you call it?” Vegeta snapped, crossing his arms. “I never asked for this marriage.”

“And still you don’t think of the throne you’ll be sitting on.”

“It’s Chi-Chi’s throne.”

“And it will be yours too. That’s how this works.”

“So you say, but I don’t know how to govern this empire.”

“You’ll learn. And I’ll be here to advise you.”

“And sulk like a child when I make my own decisions?”

“Your own decisions?” Tarble chuckled darkly, “I don’t think you know how any of this works.”

“I’ll be king in name, and an emperor in reality. How do you propose to govern me?”

“Oh Vegeta, you said it yourself,” he gave his brother a twisted smile, “we both have our roles.”

******************************

“So there’s the family breakfast, at which we have King Briefs and the rest of the Spice Kingdom royal family present, hopefully as easily pleased as their youngest daughter,” Tarble listed as the valet dressed them properly. “After that we have morning tea with just father, the monks, King Briefs and the Ox King whilst the ladies see to the dressing of the afternoon events. Then we all have luncheon with the representatives from the Eastern provinces and a few from the independent states that have arrived thus far. Don’t bother trying to remember which, I’ll be with you the whole time. Just nod and smile and say how much you’re looking forward to the wedding and the tournament.”

“Speaking of-”

“It’s this day next week, giving contestants a full week and a half to recover from unsightly injuries,” Tarble sighed, rolling his eyes. “After the luncheon you must endure your lesson with Princess Bulma.”

Vegeta said nothing, and Tarble eyed him keenly.

“It’s been two weeks of daily tutelage,” he continued, waving away the valet to fasten his own cuffs. “Are you not yet driven completely mad?”

“She’s not so irritating in a classroom setting,” Vegeta admitted, avoiding eye contact. “Without an audience she’s almost tolerable company.”

“Thank you, Acai, that will be all,” Tarble dismissed the servant, who bowed and left curtly. They both watched him leave.

“Have you really nothing to report after a fortnight of working on her?”

“What are you honestly expecting?” Vegeta growled, finishing his own toilette with decidedly poor humour. “We’ve only just got to the point where we don’t have the urge to kill each other. What, am I supposed to just come out and demand ‘where do you keep your Dragonball’ mid conversation?”

“Just doing anything would be a start.”

“I’m not trained in this bullshit like you!” Vegeta snapped, turning away to check his collar in the mirror. “I can’t just wheedle my way into someone’s secrets; I was brought up to punch my problems. It’s your fault I’m in this mess in the first place so you’ll just have to be patient.”

“My fault?”

“Correct. If you’re supposedly so good at manipulating people how did you let me get stuck in this predicament in the first place?” Vegeta countered. “I didn’t want it and neither did Princess Bulma, surely a skilled machinator such as yourself ought to have been able to divert it?”

“What the Ox Princess desires currently trumps any preference of yours, dear brother.” Tarble growled. “Now shut up and get ready.”

Vegeta sulked into the mirror, watched by his younger brother, who in that moment was consumed with thoughts of how, despite issuing from the same source, only one of them had been forced to grow accustomed to letting his wants and desires give way to those around him. He sighed and finished his own dressing, unable to even wish that Vegeta had the experiences that would have equipped him for self-sacrifice. He would learn soon enough.

******************************

Bulma hurried out of her rooms, checking her hair once more in a well placed mirror before she slipped into the main corridor.

“Late, Bulma?” a boyish voice asked her. She grinned and turned to greet her friend.

“For once, no,” she laughed, holding her hand out to Goku who pressed it familiarly. “I’m just so used to being late that I forget not to rush.”

The royal apartments were their own self-contained unit within the castle, and as Captain of the Royal Guard it was Goku’s honour and duty to ensure the safety of those that dwelled within. His hours were generally easy, as he could dictate them himself, and lately he’d been choosing to be present at around the hour the ladies would be leaving and returning to their rooms. He leaned on the wall, his friendly smile spread across his handsome face. He was habitually in good humour, though of late she had seen those spirits dampened more often than she would have liked. 

“How are things with our guests?” he asked nonchalantly.

“They seem to be settling in well. I wouldn’t be surprised if we never see Emperor Freeza here again once the festivities are over though.”

“Yeah, seems like his constitution is a little delicate for the Ox King’s brand of hospitality.”

“Chi-Chi does her best to remedy that where she can.”

“She always was the mature one,” Goku said, breaking a brief but awkward silence.

“I never really thought much about the future when we were running about as kids,” she admitted, “but even though I knew one day this would have to happen, I always thought… there would be some way…”

“It is what it is,” Goku shrugged, looking away. “We’re not kids anymore.”

“True,” she sighed, then looked up suddenly, brow furrowed. “You’re not taking the whole morning shift, are you?”

“Nah, Yamcha will be by to relieve me soon.”

“Good! Papa arrived overnight and he’ll be expecting you to breakfast with us.”

“Yup, I got a note from Ox King. Can I dump my armour in your room?”

“Oh for- yes, hurry!”

“Thanks, it’s uncomfortable to eat when-”

“Just move it! If I wasn’t late before, I will be soon!”

He laughed, already unbuckling his breastplate as he disappeared into the apartments.

******************************

“I saw Prince Vegeta again the other day,” Goku mentioned as they hurried, arm-in-arm, to the family breakfast room. “Training by himself down in the East courtyard.”

“Magic or martial training?”

“Seemed a mix of both.”

“Good,” she smiled, satisfied. “He’s doing his homework then.”

“He must be an absolute nightmare to teach.”

“Oh my god, you have no idea! Rude, arrogant, exacting; the first lesson - what an argument we had! But,” she stopped herself, her expression softening, “he’s maybe not so bad once you get to know him.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe.”

“No, really,” she argued. “It’s all an act, isn’t it? That cock-sure swagger of his, it’s just how he’s learned to present himself in the Cold Palace. From what little he tells me of the place it sounds like  _ any _ kind of weakness shown there is like a target painted on your back.”

“Just seems like a spoiled brat to me.”

“That’s never bothered you before,” she grinned impishly.

“But seriously, you’re not telling me you like that guy?”

“No! No, not at all, well, not really, that is to say…” she trailed off, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Well it’s all very complicated, isn’t it? The last few lessons he’s been a lot more relaxed, and… I dunno, I can see us getting along pretty well. He’s still an ass at times, but he’s kind of witty, smart, and not nearly so rude and awkward when you get under the surface a bit.”

“And you’ve been getting under his surface, huh?”

“For Chi-Chi!” Bulma said a little too sharply, and with a tiny, tiny blush. “He talks to me less guardedly than he does to her, I think. So I’m learning what I can, for her.”

“For Chi-Chi,” Goku repeated, but she sensed he was only half listening to her now. She pressed his arm lightly.

“Do you reckon Yamcha knows what he’s guarding when we’re not in the apartment?” she asked, trying to distract him.

“Dang it, Bulma, we’re supposed to pretend like we don’t know either.”

“Yeah, but we  _ do _ know, so do you reckon Yamcha does?”

“Ask him yourself when you go back to change your dress for the fifth time in one day.”

“He must know, he was with us when we found it after all.”

“Yeah, he knows,” Goku sighed, glancing around for listening ears. “Doesn’t know about yours though.”

“Shh!” Bulma hissed, digging her nails into his arm. “That is  _ not _ official, you could get in trouble if someone found out!”

“So don’t talk about it then,” Goku grinned at her.

“You’re supposed to be fun,” she pouted playfully.

“And you’re supposed to be smart,” he retorted, his eyebrow cocked in amusement.

The subject turned, and they carried on with their banter until they reached the breakfast room.

******************************

The morning meal passed without event. The conversation among them was naturally dominated by the newcomers; King Briefs and his wife, though not as gregarious as their close friend and ally the Ox King, were as delighted to see their ward as they were their daughter, and chatted quite comfortably with their fellow Easterners. He was a small man, with a copious and well groomed moustache, sporting eye spectacles and practically dressed. His twinkling eyes were pragmatic and sarcastic, showing greater understanding than his conversation might suggest. His wife was a little taller than him, and an unmistakably beautiful woman. She dressed well, almost a little too well, with her golden hair shining in a complicated up-do that added at least four inches to her height. She was certainly more talkative, but though she seemed to be a very good sort of woman, did not seem to possess her husband’s alacrity of mind.

Freeza took the opportunity to enjoy a quiet breakfast, always listening but never actively engaging beyond the initial honors that were due to him at the start of the meal. The quaint little custom of an informal meal among family had not grown in his esteem, especially as the honored party continued to grow larger as the days passed, now even including Goku, whom Freeza had taken to be no more than a common guard.

Tarble had tried to explain in advance to his father Goku’s connection to the royal family of the Briefs, but it was inconceivable to Freeza that a nobleman would ever be sent to serve another family. He felt the Eastern tradition of encouraging younger sons and lesser princes to be so ignobly employed, to be subject to the laws and practices of lower classes, was barbaric, a position he refused to be debated out of. Tarble for his part wasn’t sure Goku belonged there either, for similar persuasions, but nonetheless tried valiantly to make his father understand the ways of their new allies. Vegeta was also uncomfortable with the presence of his fellow Saiyan, but the reasons why were less obvious to him. Every so often one would catch the other’s eye, and the gaze was held always a few moments longer than necessary. 

Bulma was in the highest of spirits, basking in the love of her parents and comfortable in her company. Chi-Chi too was chatty, familiar to and loved by Bulma’s family. There was much talk of places and people that were unfamiliar to Vegeta, and aside from clipped answers to questions that were infrequently posed to him, he said almost nothing for the whole meal.

They parted after breakfast and returned to their rooms, attire needing to be augmented for the luncheon, which Vegeta began to realise was really more of a party. He endured the lamentation of his father, as the diminutive emperor ranted at length about the lowness of some of the Ox King’s acquaintances, and his own personal affront at being expected to closely mingle with those whom he blatantly outranked. Vegeta was in agreement to an extent, but less virulently opposed to the circumstance. 

Tarble for his part was looking forward to the luncheon, it being a chance to start the ball rolling on some beneficial diplomatic relationships that had eluded him so far. He was positively cheerful in his preparation, which only made his father more irritable.

They were the last of the noble invitees to arrive, as was the custom; they were not expected to show interest at the arrival of any of their lessers, but their arrival ought to be witnessed and anticipated by all those beneath them. It was done elegantly, and as they entered the reception room - in reality a ballroom, less grand than the huge room in which the presentation had occurred, fitted up for an informal gathering - they were accepting of the bows and curtseys that were their due. The Ox King received them, and they were soon split up by his social machinations, and enforced mingling immediately ensued.

Freeza was whisked off by the Ox King to meet some other grand kings of the continent, leaving Tarble and Vegeta by themselves, and not long after Tarble was drawn away by some academics of note. Vegeta hesitated too long as to whether he ought to follow, and in doing so his window to join his brother swiftly shut, and he was left standing alone in a strange place among unfamiliar faces. He was too grand to be approached by any lesser noble, all of whom stood in awe of his imperial presence and taciturn expression, and far too apprehensive to attempt any overture of his own. He felt increasingly naked without his brother or his sword to rely on.

He was just beginning to contemplate the possibility of escape, when a familiar voice, attached to a pale hand, appeared before him.

“Your highness,” Bulma bobbed a small curtsey, holding her hand out for him to shake.

Her behaviour was overly familiar, almost to the point of informality, but at that point he was far too grateful to quibble with her for any laxity in her manners. He shook her hand.

“Your highness,” he said in return.

“I couldn’t pass up the honour of being the first to bask in your regal presence,” she said, not too loudly, and with an impish wink.

“You should be careful how you talk,” Vegeta retorted, a smile trying to pull on his lips. “People will think we’re friends.”

“I think our first public meeting gave the court  _ plenty _ to gossip about,” she argued, both of them blushing slightly at the still too recent memory. “Mostly they’ll be wondering the same thing as I,” here she leaned forwards slightly, a blue coil of carefully curled hair slipping over her shoulder and bouncing playfully below her chin, “how on  _ Earth _ you could possibly have mistaken me for Chi-Chi.”

The muscles in his jaw tensed, and she could visibly see him squaring his shoulders underneath his maroon doublet.

“It was an easy mistake to make,” he said finally, “I was told only to expect an absurdly overdressed woman of approximately your age.”

“Ooh!” she exclaimed, slapping his forearm with her folded fan. “You’ve got some nerve!”

“I wouldn’t have made that mistake today,” he added, trying not to grin. “You’re much less obvious in that dress.”

“Why I-” she growled, also amused, and trying to decide if this was his way of paying a compliment. 

Their banter was cut short by the approach of Master Roshi and Krillin, modestly dressed in what monks called their visiting robes. The Dragon Monks were exempt from all expectations of finery, and moved freely among those of almost any rank; it was a relief to Vegeta to see another familiar face.

“Your highnesses,” Roshi bowed his head, a gesture they returned. “My compliments on another wonderful party. I’m told you have the credit for today’s arrangements?”

This was to Bulma, who smiled and opened her fan in an attempt at modesty.

“Poor Chi-Chi can’t be expected to organise every event.”

“It’s been many years since I came down from my mountain,” the old man continued, looking about at the assembly, “ladies’ fashions have really taken off since I was a young man! I do like the new fashions.”

“Master,” Krillin said in a low voice, “our code.”

“The monks’ code?” Bulma asked, appraising the old man with slight suspicion.

“It’s part of the oath they take before a novice can graduate to apprentice,” Vegeta explained. “Chastity, among others, is strictly observed.”

“Gosh dang it, Krillin,” Roshi retorted, his manners only extending to mincing his oaths. “Can’t a man appreciate a pretty skirt without you insinuating?”

“Master, I meant no-”

“What happens when someone breaks the code?” Bulma asked, never one to stand on formality. She enjoyed the monk’s unguarded speech, though she was now wary of the direction of his gaze.

“Monks never break the code,” Krillin said earnestly, his eyes downcast in honourable contemplation of his great duty.

“Oh pish, they break it all the time,” Master Roshi laughed.

“Master?”

“Where do you think all those baby monks come from? Why do you think the temple of the goat is so full of toddlers and milking nanny goats?”

“What? I thought our infant brothers and sisters were tributes from families-”

“There are some, but there are very few mothers or fathers who would happily part with a newborn baby, Krillin, or their child of any age.

“Apprentices and Novices are always sneaking off in the middle of the night to go visit their ‘friends’. Accidents do occur, and when they do it’s off to the temple of the goat for their laying in and whatnot. Given the unreliable rate of outside recruitment, we’ve always thought it best to just turn a blind eye.”

“Why don’t I know this??” Krillin cried, aghast.

“You never ask the right questions.”

Krillin fell quiet, silently recontextualising his entire life.

“What a wonderful dress you have on, your highness,” Roshi said, ignoring his beleaguered pupil. “It’s very well tailored, you must have a very talented seamstress. I especially like the cut.”

“Thank you,” she said with an icy smile. She lowered her fan, appearing to fan her lower face but in reality covering her neckline. “I’ll let my seamstress know. She’s very good with a sharp needle, as am I when I need to be.”

“Oh-ho,” he laughed, swallowing nervously.

“Master Roshi, how are you?” asked an enthusiastic Tarble, returning to their group.

“Very well, your highness, very well,” he smiled, with a single nervous glance towards Bulma.

“Your highness,” Tarble bowed politely to her. “My compliments for this wonderful party.”

“Thank you, Tarble.”

“The wedding preparations are going well,” Tarble continued, “though I suspect my brother is more eagerly anticipating the tournament.”

“I think we’re all looking forward to that!” Bulma smiled. “The wedding is going to be beautiful, though. Princess Chi-Chi has the best taste of any woman I’ve ever met, I can’t wait for you to see her gown.”

“She is truly the jewel of this kingdom,” Tarble agreed. “Such elegance without conceit, intelligence without presumption, and to think in my own shortsightedness I only told Vegeta that he would be wedding the most beautiful woman in the land! How much did I sell that woman short with such a limited commendation.”

Bulma was always happy to hear praise for her friend, though on this occasion she couldn’t quite keep her eyes from examining the elder brother’s face; his slightly reddened cheeks were proof enough to Bulma that he understood her arch smirk.

“It’s true that Chi-Chi is about as refined and pure as a woman can be,” she grinned at Vegeta, “and if it’s true that opposites attract then this Prince Charming will suit her just right!”

She nudged Vegeta, who tossed back his chin in feigned outrage.

“You vulgar woman, who taught you to speak to your betters that way?”

“In fairness I was talking  _ about  _ you rather than  _ to  _ you.”

“If you spent half as much time studying magic as you do running your mouth you’d be queen of the world by now.”

“Ooh I like the sound of that,” she chuckled, “but I’ve got this really annoying dud of a student who takes up all of my study time, you see.”

“I’d like to see you act up like this if Chi-chi was in earshot-”

“Pray, where is the Princess?” Tarble interrupted sharply. Throughout this exchange his look of shock had simmered into appalled indignation at their impolitic banter, though he quickly smoothed over his expression.

“Last I saw she was with my father and Goku,” she replied.

“Ah, dear Goku,” Master Roshi smiled, leaning back on his heels. “He was the best  _ and  _ worst pupil I ever had.”

“Which reminds me,” Tarble turned to the old master, grateful for a change of subject, “I’ve been meaning to ask you; how did Goku come to be your pupil?”

“Goku? He came to me from another temple, when Master Gohan became too ill to teach him any more. He turned up nearly the same time as you two.”

“Us?” Vegeta turned to the monk also, his curiosity piqued.

“Yes, he must have been...oh, two? Three? Hard to say at that age. We think he was running from the same band of mercenaries as you, but he took a bit of a tumble; thumped his head, could barely talk.”

“Didn’t you try to find his family? Return him?” Vegeta demanded, his face flushing.

“We would have but he couldn’t even tell us his name. He tried, what was it he said, Krillin?”

“Khaki... carrot… something like that?”

“Kakarot!” Vegeta exclaimed.

“Pardon?”

The whole of their small group was staring at him now, but he didn’t care; he was far too angry.

“That Spice Kingdom soldier is Kakarot, son of Bardock! I knew it, I knew I remembered him from somewhere!” Bulma was frowning, but he continued. “Tarble and he played together as boys. I know his father - gods, his parents, they still think he’s dead!”

“Brother, this is a wonderful discovery, but we should perhaps talk in private before-“

“Where is he?” Vegeta stepped away from their party, looking around the ballroom for his countryman. “We need to tell him immediately, and make arrangements to have him returned to-”

“Prince Vegeta, may I make a suggestion?” Bulma interjected, and - much to Tarble’s hidden fury - Vegeta stopped to listen to her. “I’ve known Goku since he was a little boy, perhaps it’s best if I tell him? It’s a lot to drop on a person, especially in the middle of a party.”

“You… are quite right, ma’am. This is neither the time nor the place.”

Vegeta returned to their party, a little sheepish, and retook his place next to Bulma; he could suddenly feel the awkward stares of the others in their group.

“I’m so glad you’re willing to listen to  _ somebody’s  _ advice,” Tarble said, his tone frosty, sounding much like Freeza when clandestinely expressing his anger in polite company. Vegeta glanced at Bulma, who seemed not to have noticed the sudden tension.

“Oh would you look at that,” Bulma chirped suddenly, “I see the Ox King has caught your father. Shall we go and save him, boys?”

They followed her eyeline and, sure enough, spotted their diminutive emperor stood with a fixed smile as the Ox King attacked him with an anecdote.

“You go ahead,” Tarble nodded politely, “I will reserve my energy for the evening meal, I think.”

“Very wise,” Bulma chuckled, touching him lightly on the shoulder at which the young man visibly grimaced. “Come on, Vegeta. Let’s go do our good deed for the day.”

Tarble watched them walk away, watched her slip her hand on his arm with all the comfort of a close acquaintance, watched with mounting resentment as she familiarly addressed his father, the whole time with Vegeta trailing behind her, waiting for her hints and signals. He felt the prickling hot touch of rage.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said to the monks, bowing to them stiffly, “I’m afraid I have some business to attend to that quite slipped my mind until this moment.”

“Wish I had some business, with all these fine young-”

“Master!”

Tarble bowed again and left them to their squabbling; he had preparations to make.

******************************

Bulma was thoughtful that afternoon as she waited for the Prince in her classroom. She had a stack of books, all with coloured paper sticking out of the pages; it was going to be a theory heavy lesson, and she wasn’t relishing the petulant moaning he would subject her to when he realised there would be no practical element today. She caught herself smirking as she imagined the insults he would attempt, while simultaneously pre-writing her retorts. Their daily bickering was gradually becoming her favourite part of the working day.

She couldn’t quite go as far as to say that she liked the man, but as the days had drawn on they’d established a comfortable enmity that was mutually enjoyable. Despite their joint commitment to civility, the barbs and insults between them were only slightly curbed, and they were developing a rhythm to their banter that robbed their words of any real impact; it had become a game, a very competitive game between two individuals not accustomed to losing, and a game without any clear win condition. Bulma had to stifle a laugh, remembering Chi-Chi’s appalled expression upon having a particularly vicious back-and-forth recounted to her one evening; it was not quite what the future queen had intended, but she was wise enough to know when to settle. The door behind her creaked open.

“Took your time,” she said by way of greeting to the crown prince. He glared at her, lifting his chin in his defiant way.

“I assumed I’d have plenty of time, lord knows how long your maids had to spend refreshing your toilette.”

“Well now I know you’re just making excuses; as if this face requires so much as a dusting of powder.”

“Oh, you look like that on purpose, do you?” Vegeta closed the door carefully, his lips quirking into a dark grin.

“Ooh you-” Bulma paused, and took a little breath. He was trying his best to get under her skin, but he wouldn’t win. “Odd that you should say that, given the circumstance of our first meeting.”

“Oh not this again-”

“Your brother spelled it out rather nicely, didn’t he?” she took a step towards him, taking a book from the desk as she did so. “You were expecting the most beautiful woman in the land, hmm?”

“That’s- you don’t -” he fumbled, breaking eye contact and colouring slightly before rallying himself. “Every princess or noble’s daughter gets called that, especially to their unwilling suitors. I expected nothing more unique than a richly dressed woman with passable manners.”

“So you say, and yet you seemed more than convinced at the time. I could have been just anyone.”

“You  _ were _ just anyone.”

“Mmm-hm,” she wagged a finger in front of his face, “I was more than that, I was the woman that fit your brother’s myopic description of the perfect wife. Do you deny it?”

“Visually, you were tolerable,” he shifted uncomfortably, batting away her finger. “I supposed you to be the sort of woman whose appearance besotted courtiers would praise.”

“High compliments indeed from you,” she cocked her head, appraising him, “but it does nothing to feed my vanity.”

“There isn’t a feast sumptuous enough on either continent to sate that particular hunger.”

“Says the man who cannot wait for a chance to show off at the tournament.”

“Please, ‘show off’,” he grunted, stepping around around her, “like there’s a single person in this castle who could pose enough of a challenge to merit the term.”

“I could take you,” she shrugged, holding out the text book to him.

“You?” he exclaimed, a short laugh escaping him before he could curb it. He glanced at the book but didn’t take it. “I’d like to see you try.”

“If you don’t start paying attention to our lessons I might be forced to.”

“I suppose if it were a magic duel you might stand a chance,” he raised a finger to his lips mockingly, as if in thought, “but this tournament is for non-magical, armed combat. It’s for  _ men _ , wielding weapons, not wands.”

“Wands are for charlatans and hack magicians, you knuckle-dragging-!” she paused, nostrils flaring.

“That’s one point to me, I think.”

“No, no it isn’t, because there are no points therefore you haven’t won one,” she snarled, thrusting the book into his arms.

“You’re angry,” he almost purred. He lifted his hand as if to take the book, but instead gripped her wrist so that she could not withdraw. “I really thought the stuff about your make-up would get to you first.”

“You have a lot more to learn about women if you think that’s all we care about.”

“Evidently,” he glanced down. “I don’t want this book.”

“Tough. Today is theory. Do let me know if you need the version with large print and colourful pictures.”

He loosened his grip slightly, but she didn’t pull away.

“Anger is a good shade on you,” he mused, “it really brightens your eyes. Probably the contrast between the blue and your cherry red face.”

“And that, sadly, is about as close to a compliment as I’m ever going to get from you,” she snatched her hand back, the book dropping into Vegeta’s waiting arms.

“Do you want compliments from me?” he asked somewhat genuinely, turning the book and grimacing at the cover.

“What? No, I don’t need compliments from anyone.”

“Good, because you’d be fishing in a barren lake.”

“My dear Prince Vegeta, don’t sell yourself so short,” she smiled sweetly. “You’re not just a piddly lake, you’re an immense, fathomless, empty fucking ocean. Sit down and open your book to tab number one,”

“You’re really going to make me read this?”

“You can’t progress without a solid understanding of theory,” she told him firmly.

“Is any of this really necessary?” he hedged, placing the book on the nearest desk and pulling out the chair. “You know very well my father only arranged these lessons to suck up to the Ox King.”

“Emperor Freeza may think our lessons are only beneficial as a political gesture but you know yourself that your development has massively accelerated here,” she pulled the chair out further, and he grudgingly sat in it. “Besides, I don’t care about your father’s motives, I care about  _ your _ motives.”

Vegeta looked at her sharply.

“If you are here to learn, then that’s enough for me, regardless of anyone else’s machinations.”

“Oh, yes obviously,” he mumbled, pulling in his seat and opening his book. “I suppose I have learnt a  _ couple _ of useful parlour tricks from you.”

“No manners though, despite my best efforts.”

“Hmph,” he snorted, smiling a little. “That reminds me, I suppose I should say that ...I am ...appreciative of the assistance you afforded me this afternoon, at the luncheon.”

“You mean when I rescued your lone ass from social obscurity? Or when I stopped you from making a huge messy scene with Captain Goku?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“I just mean ...that court ...stuff, isn’t my forte, and you were very helpful,” he stammered, staring intently at the text in front of him but reading nothing. “I can see why Chi-Chi keeps you around.”

“First of all, no-one keeps me anywhere; I do what I want and I go where I want,” she raised an eyebrow and perched herself on the edge of his desk. “Secondly, you’re welcome.”

“I wasn’t thanking you.”

“Sure you weren’t,” she leaned down to point to the relevant passages in the text, close enough that her curls were bobbing against his shoulder. “Now start here, let me know if anything doesn’t make sense; it’s De’vouix, and his prose can get a little bit sticky.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” he grunted, not moving away from her despite her partially blocking the light. On the contrary, he idly fingered the hem of her sleeve as it draped over his hand.

“So we’re just going to read and dissect a few key sections of this book for today, but for further reading…”

The lesson continued without further preamble. She was an engaging orator, with a flair for creating interest in the driest of subject matter which kept Vegeta’s attention, and he was quick to ask salient questions where appropriate. Their tone grew less adversarial and morphed into a cooperation of minds, with only the odd pause for mutual sport. There were occasional casual touches between them, a hand on the shoulder here, or fingers accidentally brushing there, but Vegeta showed none of his habitual discomfort with the physical contact. This was lost on Bulma, who had known him for such a relatively short time, but not on their third, unseen observer, who seethed in silent fury as he watched them.

Magically cloaked and totally invisible, Tarble sat in the furthest corner of the classroom. Every time she let her skirts push against Vegeta’s legs as she leant over to guide his work, or laughed at him, and especially when she smiled at him, he felt white hot rage stab his stomach. Vegeta simply sat there, dumbly lapping up her artful charm, enjoying her communication, and Tarble hated them both for it.


End file.
